The Forget-Me-Not Job
by sherlockfic
Summary: When Eliot is injured on a job, his memory is affected and he takes off. Can the team find him before anyone else does? (I rated it T for violence, but nothing more than you would see on the show. There is no swearing and no slash.)
1. Chapter 1

_The Forget-Me-Not Job_

Big spoilers for _The San Lorenzo Job_. This is set after season four (but the team still uses the premises they did in season four), so basic spoilers through the first four seasons. References and possible spoilers to _The Nigerian Job_, _The Wedding Job_, _The Beantown Bailout Job_, _The Order 23 Job_, _The Fairy Godparents Job_, _The Three Days of the Hunter Job_, _The Inside Job_, _The Gone-Fishin' Job_, _The Rashomon Job_, _The Ho-Ho-Ho Job_, _The Big Bang _Job, _The Long Way Down Job_, _The Carnival Job_, _The Grave Danger Job_, _The Queen's Gambit Job_, _The Experimental Job_, and _The Office Job_.

Thank you to my beta reader, ArtsyChick. Your energy and enthusiasm are inspiring!

_**The Forget-Me-Not Job**_

Chapter One

Sophie watched in horror as their timid mark, Anderson, pulled a weapon and aimed it at her heart. "He's got a gun," she hissed.

Her earbud crackled to life with Nate's panicked voice. _"Eliot, get over_—_"_

Before he could finish, before Sophie could even react, Eliot came out of nowhere and body-slammed the guy. Anderson had fired, but his aim went wide and the bullet missed Sophie. The two men almost rolled off the pier, and the gun went flying.

Sophie couldn't move. They were on the docks, which were empty at the moment except for them. The salty air assaulted her nose as she froze, not knowing what to do.

Nate's voice was in her ear again. _"Sophie? Are you all right?" _She couldn't answer, enthralled with the fight, hearing only the grunts and thumps between the two men. Eliot landed a blow that knocked Anderson to the ground, and he got tangled in a pile of thick ropes.

Anderson struggled before he sprang up and reached for the gun, but Eliot already had it. Eliot glanced at her, and she nodded that she was okay. Unfortunately, Anderson didn't raise his hands and come along quietly. Instead, he reached down and yanked at the ropes curled up on the docks.

Eliot lost his balance and went flying backwards into the wooden railing. It snapped in two, and Eliot fell off the pier. Through the com, she heard a sickening crack and then nothing. Anderson took off and Sophie called to Nate. "Anderson's on the run."

"_Leave him,"_ Nate said. _"We know where he'll go. Are you all right?"_

"Yes, I'm fine. Eliot?" she asked softly, through the com. She rushed to the edge of the pier. "Eliot?" He didn't answer. She leaned over the broken railing and saw him sprawled on his back in a pile of broken wood. "Oh, God," she breathed.

"_Sophie?"_ It was Nate's voice again.

She found a rickety ladder built into the pier and made her way down. "It's Eliot. He's hurt."

There was a pause before Nate asked in a tight voice, "_How bad?_"

Sophie slipped on the ladder and banged her knee. "I don't know, Nate." She heard Nate call to Eliot as she climbed over broken equipment and pieces of wood, but he didn't answer. They were in an abandoned construction site, set up under the pier. "Eliot," she said softly and knelt down next to him. She touched his jeans-clad legs. "Can you hear me?" She ran her hands over his shirt. There were no wooden shards or bones sticking out or blood soaking through, and still no response from Eliot. "Come on, say something. You can even growl at me, just…do something. Eliot? Please." She placed the back of her hand on his cheeks and forehead, knowing enough not to move him, but hoping the sensation would bring him round.

He didn't even stir.

"Nate, he's hurt bad. We're trapped down here. We shouldn't move him until we know he hasn't cracked his spine but…" She looked around desperately. There was only the rickety ladder. "I don't see how we're going to get him out of here."

Nate's voice took on the air of someone forcing calm. _"Is he conscious?"_

"No. No obvious injuries."

"_Have you tried_—_"_

"Yes. He's not responding to any stimulus. He's lying on a broken board. I heard him fall, Nate. I think he slammed his head into it."

"_Yeah, Sophie. I heard it, too."_ Nate blew out a breath.

Parker's voice came through the com. _"We all heard it. It sounded like a bull in a china shop."_

Hardison's voice rang out, _"Have you ever heard a bull in a china shop, Parker?"_

"_I have now."_

"Guys!" Sophie knew they felt helpless and worried, but she was the one staring at Eliot, his body at an odd angle on top of the broken boards, his hair tangled over his face, his utter lack of life except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

"_I can get him out,"_ Parker said.

"How far away are you?"

"_About fifteen minutes,"_ Nate said. _"Can you take care of him until then?"_

"I don't have much choice."

"_That's the spirit."_

"I mean hurry up." It was supposed to have been a quick and easy job. Get the mark to hand over the computer chip so they could go after the bad guy. Eliot wasn't even supposed to come. He was to distract the guards at the office building while Nate and Parker held the meeting. Hardison was breaking into the security system. Eliot insisted on protecting Sophie. When she found out Anderson wanted to meet at the pier, she was grateful for Eliot's company but still figured he wouldn't be needed. And now this. This was her fault. She must have tipped the guy off. She screwed up somewhere along the way and now Eliot paid for her mistake. One of the good things about working alone was that no matter how many times you failed, you haven't failed an ally. It wasn't even a possibility.

For lack of anything better to do, she reached over and brushed the hair from his face. He twitched. "Eliot! Eliot?"

He groaned.

"Come on. That's it. Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?"

Eliot blinked and groaned again, squeezing his eyes shut.

"It's okay, take it easy. There's no rush." She heard the excitement in her own voice and felt her heart thud in her chest.

"_Is he awake?"_ There was no mistaking the hope in Nate's voice.

"He's waking up. Come on, Eliot. It's okay."

He shifted his leg, his eyes still shut tight.

"No, don't move. Don't move around. Just lie still, all right? Do you understand me?"

His eyelids fluttered open and he squinted up at her. She wished she had sunglasses to give him, but it was an overcast day and she hadn't brought any. Sophie watched as his blue eyes disappeared under heavy lids. "Eliot? Are you there?" His eyes cracked open and she smiled at him.

"Where am I?" he croaked out. His body tensed as if he was bracing himself from pain.

"You've been in an accident. You fell but I've got you now. Okay? The others are on their way."

His eyes widened; they were unfocused and confused. "Others?"

"Yeah. They'll be here any minute. You just lie still."

His eyes darted around the pier, creases appeared in his forehead as if he was concentrating hard.

"Eliot? You okay?" A stupid question under the circumstances, but what else could she say? As long as she spoke soothingly, he should be all right until Nate arrived.

"What happened?"

"You saved my life. You fell. Backwards. I don't mind telling you, you scared the life out of me." She smiled brightly at him. "As you say," she mimicked the southern accent of the tough guy, "It's what I do, darlin'."

He stared up at her as though she'd sprouted a third arm. He blinked in long, slow movements. She hoped he wasn't about to pass out again. He turned his head to his side and raised his left arm, examining his wrist. He did the same with his right before staring at her again.

"What is it?"

"No handcuffs."

Sophie looked at him. "No, Eliot. Lie still."

"You can't make me. No handcuffs."

"I don't understand."

He pulled his elbows back and struggled to lift himself up.

Sophie adjusted her kneeling position but was afraid to touch him. "Eliot, stay down. We don't know how badly you're hurt."

He looked at his boots, a small smile spread across his hardened face. For a second, he didn't look like Eliot.

"How do you feel?"

"No leg irons."

"Eliot, you fell backwards off a pier."

"Did I." It wasn't a question.

Sophie suddenly felt uncomfortable. "You just saved my life. Lie back." She put her hand on his chest and tried to push him down.

Eliot grabbed her and wrenched her arm behind her back. Sophie cried out in surprise.

"Who are you?" he breathed in her ear.

Nate's voice rang through the com. _"Sophie? Are you all right? What's happening?"_

Eliot let her go and scrambled up. "Who's that?" He spun around and his boot caught in the splintered wood. He collapsed to all fours.

"_Eliot, are you okay? What was that cry?"_

"Who are you?" he called out desperately. He glanced up, scanning the pier and then the water and sky. He got to his feet again, his arms in front of him. He almost looked like he was ready to fight, but Sophie could tell the difference between Eliot's stances. This was a new one. He was balancing himself, unsteady. He was injured and on the defensive. He was…he was scared.

"Nate, something's wrong," Sophie whispered.

Eliot turned to her and grabbed his ears. "Get out of my head! Who are you people?" He wavered in place as he tugged at his ear and pulled out his com. He stared at Sophie as though she'd attacked him. He squinted at her again, and this time it wasn't sensitivity to light. He was sizing her up. He flung the ear bud down and backed away.

"Nate, he threw the com away. He's on autopilot or something. He's acting like we're the enemy, like we've captured him."

"_Don't go anywhere near him!"_ Nate shouted.

"Nate, I have to try to calm him—"

"_Sophie! Stay put! Don't go near him, don't talk to him, don't even look at him."_

Eliot found the rickety ladder and started climbing, cradling his left arm and wincing.

"He's hurt, he's scared—"

Now Hardison's voice came through. _"Which means he is the most dangerous man on the planet right now. Leave him alone."_

"He's running away. There's no telling what'll happen to him."

"_We'll find him. Just stay there. Don't follow him."_

Sophie stood up the moment Eliot climbed onto the pier and vanished. "I'm following him." She grabbed Eliot's com and stalked toward the ladder.

"_No!"_

"I'll keep my distance," she lied.

"_Sophie, please…"_ Nate sounded desperate.

She climbed the ladder and peeked over the last slat. Eliot was a few feet away, hunched over, taking stock of his surroundings. He turned around and saw her. She climbed onto level ground and held her hands up.

Eliot faced her, dropping his left arm, not willing to show a weakness. He forced himself to stand straight, and pain shone in his eyes for the briefest of seconds.

"Eliot…do you know who I am?"

"I've never seen you before, darlin'."

"You have." He'd been responding to his name so he knew who he was. That was good. "Eliot." She took a step toward him. "Tell me the date."

"No."

"Who is the…do you know who Barrack Obama is?"

He glared at her. "Is he the one coming for me?"

"Eliot, who is the President of the United States?"

He just stood there, refusing to answer.

"Bush? Clinton?"

There was the slightest crinkle around his eye. He knew those names at least, but it didn't help her place anything. She tried another tactic. "Do you remember the Dagger of Aqu'abi?"

He continued to glare at her until his face softened and he tilted his head to the side. "No, but if you hum a few bars I can fake it."

Hardison's voice came through. _"D-did he just make a joke? That is not Eliot."_

Sophie ignored them both. So he didn't even remember 2005. This was bad. "Does September 11 mean anything to you?" Parker once asked him where he was on September 11, and his face contorted into an expression of horror and sadness and he refused to speak of it. Anytime mention of it occurred—in the news, on the radio, snippets of overheard conversation—he had the same reaction. Eliot was a private man, but even he couldn't help but show certain emotions about specific events.

There was no crinkling around the eyes. He showed no recognition, no sign of emotion, his face void of any passion. She hated seeing him like this, and him looking at her like she was a stranger.

"_Sophie?"_ Nate's soft voice sounded in her ear. _"Please be careful."_

She knew what she had to do. Eliot had no idea who he was—not now. He didn't know them. He would go to ground and they knew nothing about his past that would help them track him down. If he disappeared from this dock, they might never find him again. She took another step forward. "I cannot believe you don't remember me. You just risked your life to save mine."

He held his right arm out. "Stop."

Sophie froze. There was a pleading in his voice. He may not know her anymore, but he didn't want to hurt her.

"I'm no threat. I want to check your injuries."

"Not gonna happen. Keep your distance."

"_Sophie…"_

"I can't do that, Eliot. I'm a doctor."

Nate's voice was tight. _"Sophie, what are you doing?"_

Eliot's arm dropped. "That's convenient."

"You'll let me examine you?"

"Not on your life."

"You understand. I have to. I am duty-bound by my oath as a doctor to help. I saw you fall off the pier. I know you're injured. You know I can't let you go pass out somewhere and die of internal bleeding."

Eliot's face paled. "You're going to force me to do something I don't want to do."

"_Sophie, stop. We're almost there. Stop now."_

"You wouldn't hurt a doctor."

"I took out a vet once, with nothing but a water dish and some Kibble."

Sophie swallowed hard. She knew Eliot had a violent past—he had a violent present—but he had his own moral compass. He wouldn't hurt her so long as he believed she meant him no harm.

"_Sophie, so help me God_—_"_

"_Nate,"_ Parker's voice cut him off. _"She might be able to get through to him."_

Hardison spoke next. _"He won't hurt her, but if he runs, we might never be able to find him. We don't know anything about his past, and he doesn't know anything about himself now. So many people are after him. I don't care how tough he is_—_and that man freaks me out every day_—_but even he won't be able to protect himself."_

Parker again. _"If we don't get to him right now, either his injuries will kill him or one of his_—_or _our—_enemies will."_

Sophie smiled at Eliot again and stepped up to him.

He made no move.

She stopped just short of reaching distance. If she could keep him talking…. "Will you lift your shirt for me?"

He shook his head.

She hadn't thought so. And then she realized why he hadn't moved. She could see the pain he was in; it was in his eyes, in his face, in the way he stood off balance. He'd been gathering his strength. He took a deep breath. It would have been imperceptible if she hadn't been so in tuned to him by their friendship and her concern for his injuries. He was ready to bolt. He looked at her shoes and she saw the wheels turn. She couldn't run after him in her heels. He must be hurt badly to let her get this close. He started to lean right, ready to run.

"I'll take your pulse." She reached to his right and blocked him.

He grabbed her wrist, whirled her around, kicked the back of her knees and she went down. She'd been expecting something so she didn't cry out this time. She reached around and grabbed at his middle, to catch her balance. He pushed her down and leaned on her back. His elbows dug into her spine, and she guessed he didn't mean to lean so hard. He was having trouble keeping his balance. Even this one-sided "fight" with her was taking its toll. If he was anyone but Eliot Spencer, he'd be out cold right now. He drew a knife from his boot and Sophie flinched.

"Don't worry darlin', but I did warn you."

"_Sophie, what's going on?"_

He reached over her head and pulled a length of rope and cut it. It was slow work for him, that shouldn't have taken but a few seconds.

"I told you, I'm a doctor." She couldn't talk to Nate or the others directly but she could let them know she was still okay.

"_Why is your voice strained? What is he doing?"_

Standing on her back, it felt like.

Eliot put his knife back in his boot. "I don't know if I believe you, but it doesn't matter now."

"_Why doesn't it matter now, Sophie? What is he doing?"_

Eliot wrapped her hands behind her back and stretched the rope across the length of her body and tied her feet together. He was hogtieing her!

"Ever the southern gentleman," she said.

"I warned you."

"Yes, you did."

Now Hardison spoke through the com. _"Sophie, we're here. Keep him talking."_

"At least tell me you'll get medical help from someone you trust."

"There isn't any—" Eliot cut himself off. "I'll be fine. What's the tibia?"

"The what?"

"Are they almost here?"

"Yes." Sophie gasped. Why did she say that? Because it was Eliot. Eliot her friend. Eliot her teammate. He was not Eliot the enemy. Eliot the mark. She failed him again.

He struggled to stand and patted her back a couple times. "Nice try,_ doctor_."

"Eliot, wait!"

But he was gone.

A minute later, Nate, Hardison and Parker came running up to her. Nate crouched down and started pulling at the ropes.

"Never mind about me—get him!"

Nate motioned to Hardison and Parker. "Find him."

"And then what?" Hardison demanded, his voice a pitch higher than normal.

"I can taser him," Parker said.

"I didn't see which way he went, he was somewhere behind me. Go. Now! Please get him." She heard them run and prayed that Eliot had passed out somewhere safe but obvious. Then they would have to handcuff both of his wrists and put him in leg irons for good measure, and it would be his own fault.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two  


Eliot stumbled more than walked. He forced himself to keep a normal pace, but the pain and exhaustion overtook him so he flagged down a cab. He had the chatty man drop him off a block away from the safe house, reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. He didn't know who was after him or what injuries he'd received—or how. That woman said he fell off a pier. Already that whole scene was fading. Everything was fading.

He punched in the code for the third time. He'd set up the security system himself and chose code-entry access over a key because he knew if he needed this place—when he needed this place—he'd be injured. Injured meant he'd been in a fight. A fight meant he could lose the key or his enemy might get their hands on it. It was sound reasoning except some injuries scrambled the code from his memory. He tried another code. He had six tries left. He'd figured an enemy wouldn't guess his code in ten tries but he might be so confused he'd need them. He got it on the seventh attempt. Strange. He could have sworn…it didn't matter. He was in.

Grabbing the medical kit from the bathroom, he set to work. He hoped he didn't need a second pair of hands. If he had to cross that road, he would. The only thing worse than showing weakness to the enemy was showing it to the men he worked with. It wasn't like when he was in the military. There, the guys had his back and he had theirs. This group he found himself in now was made up of vicious, sadistic killers. Only recently had he woken up to it, realized where he'd ended up. He'd disappeared into himself after that last tour, he almost didn't make it. Not physically. Physically, he was fine. He preferred physical injury and physical pain.

He gasped as he took off his shirt and caught sight of his chest. He wavered in front of the mirrors, setting them up so he could see his back and any damage done by the fall. He believed the dark-haired woman about that, at least. He settled himself at the edge of a wooden chair. His back had scrapes and bruises, but he couldn't see any broken skin and felt no slivers—thank God. That was all he needed to do, hand a sadist a pair of tweezers to pull a sliver out of your shoulder blade because you couldn't reach it.

His breath caught in his throat as he stared into the mirror, leaning closer and closer until he nearly tumbled off the chair. The scars…He brought his fingers over his chest and stomach. He had what looked like old scars in places he'd never received scars. A knife wound here, a gunshot wound there. He touched the nastiest one. It just felt like a ridge in his skin. There was no pain, no unusual sensation. He'd remember getting shot. He'd remember every scar. These were new but not fresh—how was that possible? Then he saw his arms. His muscles…they looked different. They were more seasoned, tighter. He was leaner. And his hair fell past his shoulders. That morning it was cut short, as usual. He tugged and ran a hand through his locks. It was his hair, grown long. What was going on?

He shook his head to clear it but slipped off the chair from dizziness. He landed on his right side and stayed put. He wanted to sleep but that was also his biggest concern. Never sleep alone when you have a concussion. He knew he had one; the headache, the confusion, the dizziness, the mismatched pupils. He'd hit his head, that much was evident, and he'd lost consciousness. Bad symptoms.

He had little choice. Slipping into a coma was preferable to being vulnerable to the people he worked for, but he couldn't succumb yet.

The plan was to treat his wounds, get some food down, get a full night's sleep and then start the job a day late. Assuming he woke up in the morning, he'd set out to do what he'd started that morning. He didn't want the contract to go to the other men. He was the one Damien Moreau hired to kill General Flores.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three  


"It's been three days, Nate." Sophie paced the room again. "Do you know what could happen to him in three days? He could be dead."

"I know, Sophie. Don't you think I know exactly what the different scenarios are?"

Sophie turned away from him. They were in Nate's condo, staring at the useless screens, not telling them where Eliot was. They'd ended the disastrous con by leaking info to the CEO that Anderson had the chip. Then Anderson turned on the CEO and they were both being held for questioning. It wasn't what they'd set out to do, but it was good enough. Sophie rubbed her arms, crinkling her shirt. Nate sat on the couch, his curly hair a mess, bags under his eyes. She suspected she looked no better, even though she did her hair and makeup. Course, she only spent five minutes total and the effect was less than sparkling.

She rubbed her ear. She wore the com all the time now, even to bed. The others drew the line at letting her wear it in the shower—except Parker, who said she closed her eyes and pictured herself at a peaceful waterfall in the woods.

They all exhibited the stress in their own unique ways, but Sophie could hardly soothe any of them—her usual role, the voice of reason—because her guilt ate away at her and she felt a shell of the woman she'd become with them.

That was irony for you. She'd been so focused on not putting herself in a vulnerable position and risk betrayal, and then she went and failed Eliot. He was a great example. His job required him to hold no ties. If he worked alone, he could run when needed. Sophie should have run. The moment Eliot body-slammed Anderson, she should have run. Eliot had looked at her, made sure she was all right. Then he was flying backwards, flailing his arms. Then he broke through the railing and then that sickening crack.

Over and over and over, she couldn't sleep. She couldn't eat. Every time she tried, she saw him save her. Look at her. Fall backwards. And that sound. And then he woke up in fear for his own life.

At first, she'd assumed Eliot remembered the fight and thought she was Anderson, or that Anderson had caught them, or even that Eliot only had a vague notion he was in danger because of the battle. Of course. Why else would a man like Eliot wake up outside and in pain? She thought he just needed a moment to orient himself, and then he'd let her help him.

All because she let something slip past and Anderson saw it. She hadn't taken him seriously. He was a mark, a little office drone, and all she needed was that computer chip, and now Eliot wasn't their Eliot and he could be lying anywhere, in need of help. Confused. Hurt. Dead.

"_I still don't get it,"_ Parker said over the com.

Parker and Hardison were in the streets, searching for Eliot. Nate stayed behind that morning to come up with a new plan because this one wasn't working. Sophie was forced to stay behind because, as Nate so delicately put it, 'I'm not jeopardizing the three of them because you can't eat or sleep and look like crap.' Couldn't he have just said, 'stay here in case Eliot comes back?'

Nate would disappear for hours at a time, meeting with contacts, trying to get a lead on Eliot without spreading the word that Eliot was missing or hurt. It was tricky, and for anyone else Sophie could have needled the information out without them knowing she'd so much as asked a question, but when it was one of the team, she couldn't do it.

"_He doesn't remember us,"_ Hardison explained for the millionth time.

"_That's just ridiculous,"_ Parker said. _"Of course he remembers us. How could he forget?"_

"It's not his fault, Parker," Sophie said. It's mine, she thought.

Nate let out a deep sigh and stood, stretching his arms and rotating an ankle in the air. His clothes were wrinkled and he hadn't shaved in two days. And he said _she_ looked like crap. "He thinks it's sometime before September of 2001. He thinks he's…whoever he was back then. It would be hard enough to track him if he disappeared now."

"_He did disappear now,"_ Parker pointed out.

Hardison's voice came out of the com. _"He means if Eliot hadn't lost his memory. We know him now, sort of. Could we find him if he didn't want us to?"_

"_He doesn't want us to."_

Nate rubbed his temples with long fingers, and then grabbed his hair and pulled. His voice came out in calm, even tones. "It's called retrograde amnesia. He hasn't forgotten who he is, he's forgotten everything that's happened to him over the last…dozen years or so."

"_Hmph."_ Parker seemed dissatisfied. _"He'd count that as a blessing. We used to joke about it."_

Sophie's heart beat faster as she waited for Parker to continue.

"_Hardison, can we get some ice cream?"_

"Parker!" Sophie snapped. "What did you used to joke about with Eliot?"

"_Lots of things. One time_—_"_

"No, Parker. In regards to losing his memory."

"_Oh. He said if he ever lost his memory, tell him to enjoy it. I told him if I ever lost my memory, help me get it back quick because I'd want to remember all_—_"_

There was a pause.

"_All what?"_ Hardison asked.

"_Nothing. It's private."_

"_You told Eliot."_

"_That's true. Okay. All of you guys. I never belonged anywhere. I don't ever want to forget this feeling."_

Sophie glanced at Nate. He was staring at her.

"_But even though I'm fine, it doesn't feel the same. Eliot missing is like a part of me is missing."_

Sophie felt miserable.

"_Is that okay?"_

"Yes." Sophie started pacing again. "That's okay, Parker."

"_We're not us, and we haven't been us in three days. We're never going to find him without us being us, but we won't be us until we find him."_

Sophie's heart clenched in her chest and she didn't know how to respond.

"_Can we get some ice cream now?"_

Sophie heard Hardison snort.

"_Can't you just get a Tardis and go get him from 2000-whatever?"_

"_As glad as I am that you're paying attention to the DVDs I show you, it wouldn't work."_

Parker clicked her tongue in annoyance. _"Because we couldn't get Eliot to step inside."_

Sophie wanted to cry. Parker was so…cheerful, even while she worried for Eliot. And she saw things so differently, so simplistically.

"_Yes, Parker,"_ Hardison said, exhaustion in his voice. _"That's why."_

"Okay, let's review." Nate put his hands together and walked around the couch. "Sophie slipped the com into Eliot's jeans, but we lost the signal around 3rd and Pine."

Sophie nodded. When she'd lost her balance as Eliot was about to tie her up, she'd slipped Eliot's com in the tiny pocket no one used. She prayed he wouldn't discover it or toss his jeans. Hardison tracked the signal until it disappeared. All their coms went down. It was a dead zone. No wonder Eliot had picked the place. Technology had come a long way since Eliot had first set up whatever safe house he was hopefully in, but he would have done whatever was necessary to keep the security up to date. He just didn't remember.

Hardison and Parker went together, knocking on doors, looking for their friend without giving away they were looking for their friend but it was slow, dangerous work and they checked in every fifteen to thirty minutes, coming out of the dead zone to report that they were fine and to see if Eliot had moved out of it. The deeper they went in, the longer the process took.

Nate continued. "We can assume Eliot ditched his jeans."

"Or he's lying dead in the dead zone," Sophie snapped.

Nate held his hand to his ear. "Guys, we're going to switch off for a moment. Sit tight." He turned his com off.

Sophie bit her lip and reached up to do the same with hers, cutting Parker off in mid-sentence.

"_Oooh, Sophie's in big trou_—_"_

"What do you think you're doing? You're a mess. You feel so guilty, you're sabotaging our efforts to get him home safe."

"I'm just—"

"No more excuses. Knock it off or I'm sending you home."

"You can't do that."

"I can and I will. If you want to be a part of this, then be a part of it. We can't hear one more negative comment. They're out there knocking on doors in a dangerous neighborhood looking for a dangerous man. They're breaking into hopefully empty buildings to search for him. I can't send you out there because I'm afraid you'll fold under the pressure, which means they're out there alone and they need our support. You don't think they know they could break into an empty place and find Eliot cold and blue on some dirty floor, deader than a doornail?"

Sophie's jaw dropped.

"That's what you want to remind them of? That possible outcome?" He moved over to her and grabbed her shoulders. "Until then, he's alive. He's in hiding, licking his wounds. His movements are concealed, his contacts are unknown to us. What he's thinking, who he thinks he is, is unknown to us. But we'll find him. You have to believe that or your mind is closed to a potential clue. You'll miss something that might be helpful and might be the one tiny piece that gets him back to us. Do you understand me, Sophie?"

Sophie's breath caught in her throat. "The biker bar."

"What are you talking about?"

Sophie switched her com back on.

"_No, the Daleks are bad, Parker,"_ Hardison was saying.

"Hardison, are there any biker bars in the dead zone?"

"_Uh…let me pull up the map. Let's see. Yes. There's one about three blocks from Eliot's last known position. Why?"_

"I think he might go there."

"_To a biker bar. With a concussion."_

"Please check it out."

Parker's voice came through. _"He's already driving, Sophie. What's this about?"_

"Did you know that Eliot likes Adam Sandler movies?" Nobody responded to her question. She couldn't blame them. "I completely forgot about it until Nate said we don't know what he's thinking. It's like that movie, _50 First Dates_."

"_This is nothing like_ 50 First Dates_, Sophie_." Hardison's voice was hard. _"Nate, maybe it's time we send her home."_

"Let's hear her out."

"The girl in the movie had some form of retrograde amnesia and always went to this one diner. Eliot said he'd go to the biker bar because it was the safest place to gather and impart information because nobody would be foolhardy enough to try to find anyone known to the bikers. They would protect him because he's like one of their own and there's a lot of misinformation. An enemy wouldn't make it out in one piece with the correct information but friendlies stood a chance."

Nate smirked.

"You don't need to look so smug," she whispered.

Parker chuckled. _"Leave it to Eliot to watch a romantic movie and turn it into a lesson in security."_

"_Stood a chance?"_ Hardison repeated. _"Friendlies stood a chance?"_

"It's the only lead we've got," Nate said.

"_Th-that is not a lead, okay? A lead is a blip from the GPS. A lead is seeing him walking down the street. Walking into a biker bar to have our butts handed to us is not a lead."_

"_I'll do it,"_ Parker said.

"_Of course you will,"_ Hardison breathed.

"_Oh, good."_

"_No, you will not do it."_

"_But you just said_—_"_

"_Parker. Do you know how dangerous this is?"_

"_As dangerous as jumping off buildings?"_

Hardison sucked in a breath. _"I forgot who I was talking to."_

"_There's a lot of that going around."_

Sophie heard the sound of the van door opening.

"_Parker, wait!"_

Nate held his hand to his ear. "Hardison, Parker, do it."

"_Nate!"_

Sophie didn't know what to think. "Parker, where are you going? We need to prep carefully for this."

"_I'm going across the street to that clothing store. I'll be right back."_

Hardison spoke again, his voice weary. _"You realize we have to go dark for this."_

Sophie glanced at Nate. She hadn't thought of that. The bar was in the dead zone.

"I know," Nate said.

"_She'll have no back up. If I stay in the van, I won't know if she's in trouble."_

"You'll have to stay in the van, Hardison. Parker is…"

"_Is what, Nate?"_ Parker asked in a thin voice.

"Non-threatening. Unassuming. If she's careful, no one'll want to hurt her. They might want to protect her."

It was true, Parker was the sort of person who was so used to being alone that her social skills were that of an excited child. She did bring out the motherly instinct, but how would that play to a roomful of drunken bikers?

"_And just think, this time if I stab a guy with a fork, no one'll even react."_

Hardison spoke again. _"I don't think it's worth it to try. It's too risky."_

Parker's voice came through, over background conversations in the clothes store. _"Anything is worth a try. Do you remember who we're talking about? There's one reason I can do this without a care in the world or a doubt in my mind."_

"What's that?" Sophie asked.

"_Without complaint, without thinking twice, without any reservations at all_—_Eliot would do it for me."_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thank you all for the great response to this story. I intend to post a new chapter every Wednesday and Saturday. The story is completed, but I'm running a final check through each chapter before posting. I hope you continue to enjoy Eliot's plight!_

* * *

Chapter Four  


"All right, you know the plan."

Parker pushed Hardison away and adjusted the straps of the halter top she wore under a denim jacket. Ripped jeans and black boots completed the ensemble beautifully. "Yes, yes. I go in there and casually strike up a conversation about a blonde man with a sexy southern accent who's travelled through time."

Hardison fumbled over his words, as though he didn't know which point to pick apart. "Y-y-you think he's sexy?"

Parker made a face at him and wrenched open the van door. "Duh!" She hopped out. "Sophie would be agreeing right now if she could hear us."

"You talk about how sexy Eliot is?"

"Of course. On girl's night. When we paint each other's nails and get our fuzzy slippers and then jump out the window."

"Jump out the window?"

"That's what girls do at sleepovers. I know. I've been to, like, sooooo many. They're really fun."

Hardison squeezed his lips together and tried to nod. He seemed so flustered. He often appeared flustered and confused when they had one of their chats. He just didn't know what it was like to get the old sleeping bag out and head over to a friend's house for hot chocolate and pillow fights. She knew. She imagined exactly how they must be. "Wish me luck."

"May God be with you, and the Force be with you, and, um…"

"The Daleks."

"The Daleks are bad, Parker!"

She waved at him and slammed the door shut. Now she had to concentrate. She couldn't give herself away. Sophie told her not to say anything about Eliot or that she was looking for someone. Yet, she had to steer the conversation in that direction. She also couldn't risk word getting to him if he hadn't been there yet—he already thought Obama was after him. Maybe she'd walk in and Eliot would be there. That would be wonderful, but Nate had cautioned her on that possibility, too. She couldn't scare him or tip him off. She also couldn't call for help. Eliot wouldn't recognize her. She wanted to see that for herself.

Parker would have to wait and see what leads the biker bar had for her, and it didn't matter how long it took to get one, she had all the patience in the world. She'd stay there all night if she had to. Let them kick her out. She'd have conversations, in no hurry with no urgency. She'd wait to hear something, wait until he walked through the door. And if it didn't happen tonight, she'd sleep in the van while Hardison kept watch and be the first in line when they opened tomorrow night and do it all over again.

Eliot might be a boy, but Parker knew he would grab a sleeping bag and watch scary movies and jump out the window and make hot chocolate just like any of the girls in her imaginings. Eliot was one of her best friends and she was going to find him no matter how long it took.

She pushed the door open and made her way to the bar. She attracted the bartender's attention, studying every man in the place. It was dark and loud. She didn't like loud noises. There were so many people in such a small room. Taking a breath to steady herself, she found a seat and settled in for a long night.

"…in San Lorenzo, can you believe it?"

Parker nearly spun off the stool as she whipped around. Two guys played pool behind her; one was huge and the other had green hair.

"Why's he talking 'bout Moreau after all this time?"

"Beats me but I think he was on the hunt. You know how he gets that murderous glint in his eye when someone steps over that line."

"You do not want to be on the receiving end of that glare." The man shivered. He must have been seven foot tall and four hundred pounds. Parker couldn't even guess how he fit through the door.

The green-haired man pulled up his pool cue and patted the big man on the shoulder. "You ask me, he's gone down there to kill him."

"Why? He's better off suffering in that dungeon."

The other man shrugged. "We'll find out in a few days. He's on his way now."

"He don't waste time."

"He never did, did he? Maybe he figures the homicidal tendencies'll wear off."

The big man laughed.

The green-haired man leaned in close to the bigger man, and Parker strained to hear. "You ask me, I like him better helping than hurting. My cousin might need him. I'd have asked him tonight but…he just didn't seem himself."

"That situation gone south?"

"Yup."

"Sorry to hear that, man."

Parker had heard enough. She rushed out of the place before the bartender even made his way to take her order. She ran through the doors and jumped in the passenger seat of the van, scaring Hardison. "Go!" she shouted. "Go!"

Hardison peeled out, breathing hard. "What'd you do? What happened? Who's after us?"

Parker ticked off her fingers. "Nothing. Nothing. No one."

"Why am I running for our lives?"

"I dunno. 'Cause you're dramatic?"

He checked the rearview and slowed the van. "Where are we going, Parker?"

"Get Nate and Sophie back up."

He nodded and they turned their coms on. After a few minutes, Parker heard hers come to life.

"Nate? Sophie? Are you there?"

"_Yes, Parker, what is it?"_ Sophie asked. _"Are you out? What happened?"_

"I found out where Eliot is going."

Hardison shook his head. "You were in there for all of five minutes."

"And I didn't even stab anyone. I'm getting better at this."

Nate's voice sounded tired. _"What'd you find out, Parker?"_

"Eliot's gone to San Lorenzo to kill Damien Moreau."


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Again, thank you everyone for loving this story! It was so much fun to write, and I'm so glad you guys are finding it fun to read._

_Tacodestroyeravenger – Eliot is injured and not quite right in the head. (Head injuries affect everyone differently.) He's noticing things but adopting that wonderfully treacherous ability human beings have of dismissing things he doesn't understand, doesn't want to deal with, or doesn't know how to deal with._

_His hair is long but it can't be. His muscles are more seasoned and he has old scars in places he never got injured. You or I would think we're in the _Twilight Zone_, but you or I would probably be in a nice, safe hospital bed with trained staff and a loving family to fill in the gaps in our memories._

_But this is Eliot._

_He ran, he's alone, he's injured and he is focusing on the last thing he remembers – his mission – to the exclusion of everything else…  
_

* * *

Chapter Five

Eliot stood in line at the currency exchange in San Lorenzo. It was a sleepy little place and beautiful. He'd never been there before but he felt an affinity for it. A connection. Like it was part of him. It must remind him of somewhere he'd been, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He'd been having trouble with his memory lately. The world seemed different somehow, unfamiliar, and the dreams were driving him nuts. Snippets of weird jobs he'd never been on yet they felt so real. That's how dreams went, he supposed. Maybe he'd been running too long. No place to put up his boots. He didn't trust his co-workers or his boss. He was definitely running on empty.

He walked up to the counter and exchanged his money. He walked outside and counted it, something he really shouldn't do, but just let someone try something. He hadn't hit anyone in a week and he was so frustrated and had that pent up rage. He couldn't stand people who preyed on others. They should live in a world where anyone could count their money in plain sight.

Then he saw it. In his hand. Staring up at him. He pocketed the money except for the 20 royal note. He brought it close to his face and studied it. The woman from the pier smiled back at him. "Oh my God," he breathed. Someone was walking by and Eliot grabbed his arm. "Hey."

"Yes, mister?" The man had a heavily-accented voice.

Eliot shoved the money in the guy's face. "Who is that?"

The man's face softened and hardened at the same time. "That is our first lady."

"Where is she?"

"Dead."

Eliot stumbled back as though the guy had hit him. "She's dead?"

"It happened right as President Vittori was elected. She was beautiful and she was loved and she was killed by Damien Moreau's men."

Eliot bumped into the building and sagged against it.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Eliot had grabbed this man, shoved something in his face and demanded information—and his response was to be nice? Why'd he have to be nice? If someone had done that to him…. "Yeah, fine. It's just sad."

"It is sad. What a world we live in when a woman speaks about freedom and is gunned down, right in front of everyone."

"Yeah."

"Goodnight, mister."

"Yeah, goodnight. Thanks. Wait." Eliot tried to press the note into the man's hands but he refused it and walked on. After a moment, Eliot pushed himself off the building and went to his hotel, making sure he wasn't followed. No one should know he was there but old habits die hard. Besides, you could never be too careful. One slip and…he fell into his bed and shut his eyes.

He saw her, the first lady. She was talking to reporters, to her people. A shot rang out and she fell into the arms of her future husband. The bullet was meant for him. She'd stepped in front of him, trading her life for his.

And then Eliot smiled. He lowered the smoking gun and ripped off his mask. He had a buddy next to him, who also took off his mask. They grinned at one another. It was General Flores—the man he was sent there to kill.

Eliot woke with a start. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and tripped over himself getting to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face, soaking his hair as he still wasn't used to the length. What a dream! What a horrific dream. But what did it mean? He couldn't have actually killed that lady so why dream it? And how was it possible that the woman at the pier was the same as the woman on the money and the woman in his dream?

Eliot splashed more water on his face, planning his next move. He was exhausted but it was the middle of the day. The library should be open. He pulled on his jeans and a t-shirt and took the stairs to the lobby and exited the hotel via the back. He was able to walk to the library but he couldn't enjoy it. Something was nagging at him, in the back of his mind. He entered the stately building and was surprised to find a bank of computers for patrons to use. Technology was creeping in at a faster rate than he'd noticed. He found a librarian and asked her where he could read about their first lady. She didn't eye him strangely or ask why or what he wanted to know. Instead, her face darkened and she led him to a computer and pulled up a program. He thanked her and started reading. Rebecca Ibanez, engaged to Michael Vittori.

Eliot looked up. Engaged? Rebecca Ibanez, not Rebecca Vittori? His whole body trembled. It wasn't a dream…Inside the dream, he'd known she was his fiancé. The stranger outside the currency exchange told him she was their first lady. Eliot should have assumed that meant they were married. _Anyone _would assume that meant they were married, but Eliot dreamt they were engaged and that only meant one thing—it wasn't a dream but a memory.

_A memory?_

He staggered back to the hotel, not on his guard. He realized it about two blocks away, someone could easily have followed him. Eliot swung his head in every direction, wincing at the intensity of his newest headache. A little boy broke from his mother's grasp and ran up to him.

Eliot loosened into an attack stance, bending at the knees and holding his arms out. He stopped himself before making fists. The boy was maybe eight years old, staring up at him with soft brown eyes and unruly black hair. Eliot relaxed into a more normal standing position. The child frowned and kicked Eliot's shin.

"What the—" Eliot grabbed his knee to stop himself from attacking the little boy.

"You better stay away from my dog!"

"Your dog? I've never been near your dog. I didn't even know you had a dog. What's your problem, kid?"

"My daddy told me about dog fighting when I saw you on TV." The boy pulled up his leg and kicked Eliot in the other shin.

Eliot sucked in a breath and steeled himself from taking out the kid.

"With a puppy!"

"I was never on TV with a puppy, kid."

"Yes you were!" He raised his leg to kick again and Eliot backed up.

He made his way past the boy, purposeful but unhurried. He would not be running away from an eight-year-old attacker.

This was ridiculous. Dog fighting? Why was an eight-year-old accusing him of dog fighting? The world was bad enough with people fighting people, and the only experience he had with dog fights was stopping that vet in Croatia, who never saw that water dish coming. Eliot's world was shattering into crazy shards that were sinking deep into his mind.

How could he forget that woman? He remembered every single kill. The color of their eyes. The quality of their voices. The scent of their skin. He'd never seen this woman before the docks when he woke up injured. He woke up injured…maybe that was the key.

But…he had killed her, he was sure of it. He murdered her right in front of everyone and smiled after he'd done it. It must've turned into a dream when the man next to him revealed himself to be General Flores. Of course. He was supposed to be researching Flores. Moreau hired Eliot to take him out.

Why didn't he remember her? How could he have blocked it? He would never do that. When he killed, it was in self-defense or as a soldier. He never smiled. He never forgot, not one single detail.

He let himself back in his room. It was a small space, cozy but clean with a comfortable bed, end table, TV, desk and chair. There were pictures on the wall depicting ships and water and lighthouses and piers, as if taunting him. He stripped to his boxers and fell into bed again. What was happening to him? Every time he closed his eyes, he took the shot and she went down. Rebecca Ibanez. Strange. She didn't look like a Rebecca. And how could she be there when he woke up on the dock? Unless it was guilt, eating away at him for forgetting. He was injured, maybe his mind played tricks on him.

Was there even a woman at the docks? Had he been alone, stumbling around, talking to himself?

She'd pleaded with him to let her help him. She said he'd saved her life, over and over, she said that. He'd saved her life at the risk of his own and been hurt in doing so.

He'd been hurt many times saving someone's life.

Why did he give her a British accent?

He was afraid to fall asleep again but he couldn't get up. He was trapped in his own mind by his exhausted body.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I've got some small chapters coming up, so I might post more often than Wednesday and Saturday. I had no idea you guys would keep asking for more. This is really fun!_

_TooLazyToLogIn—There are spoilers through season four. You might not follow some of the things mentioned because you haven't seen episodes that are referred to. I hope you can enjoy, anyway—or come back again after you've seen the episodes I listed in the beginning. I decided to really play with Eliot's amnesia, though I think I do it subtly._

_Tacodestroyeravenger—Eliot posed as someone who loves dog fighting. A reporter asks what brought him to San Lorenzo and he says, "Two words: dog fighting" and he lifts an adorable little puppy and says they do the dog fighting with puppies as young as this one on presidential property. It was part of the team's smear campaign, and it was so funny because the reporter is kind of at a loss while Eliot is beaming and completely unashamed._

* * *

Chapter Six  


"No." Nate shook his head. "I don't think he's there to kill Moreau."

"Why not?" Hardison asked. "Makes sense to me."

The group stood in the living room, deciding on their next move. Sophie knew they were going to San Lorenzo and wished they would plan on the way. She wanted to get out of there, to find Eliot and fix this.

Parker stuck her lower lip out before saying, "That's what the guys in the bar thought, and that one guy spoke to Eliot."

"Yes." Nate pointed at her. "He spoke to Eliot but not our Eliot. One thing we do know about Eliot's past is that he worked for Moreau and he was stuck. I'm afraid this is much, much worse than Eliot going down there to kill Moreau."

"Lots of things are worse than that," Hardison said. "I say we wait a little bit before heading out, if you know what I'm saying."

"Eliot doesn't go around killing people." When nobody said anything, Parker stomped her foot. "He doesn't! He only does it when he has to. When he's protecting people."

Hardison turned to her. "For who was the worst thing Eliot had ever done?"

"Moreau."

"And what was that worst thing?"

"I don't know. He threatened to tell me."

"Exactly."

"Exactly," Nate repeated. "That's the Eliot we're dealing with now. We don't know what he's thinking, where his moral compass points to or what his motivations are."

"So?" Parker demanded. "He's still our Eliot, it doesn't matter if he knows it. We know it."

Nate held up a hand. "We need to move fast and as a team. We need to be focused and strong." He took a breath and looked at each of them. "We have to be ready to go up against Eliot."

"Why?" Parker demanded.

"What do you mean?" Hardison asked suspiciously.

Sophie had a sinking feeling in her gut. She'd put two and two together.

Nate's voice was soft. "We might have to stop him because if we don't, we could all get killed."

"Why?" Parker asked again.

Nate said nothing, so Hardison looked at Sophie. "What's he talking about?"

Sophie stood up, her stomach twisting in knots. "It's quite likely that Eliot went down to San Lorenzo to break Damien Moreau out of jail."

xxxxx

Eliot was sitting in a chair. It wasn't very comfortable and he couldn't get up. He was a prisoner in a warehouse—the mob was deciding who would kill him. They were passing the gun around. They all had guns. That's when she walked in. The first lady. The woman at the docks with the British accent. The woman that had spoken to him so kindly in soft, silky tones, as though she cared for him and worried about him. He saw her, but the others didn't. A shot rang out, and he sat there, surprised. She'd pulled the trigger. There was blood on his shirt. Two more shots hit him, and he tipped over in the chair, dead.

Eliot flung himself out of bed. He lay on the floor, breathing hard. He didn't even try to make sense of that dream. It felt so real…it felt like a memory, but it had to be a dream. He was less scared in the dream—in that chair and being shot to death—than he was here on the hotel room floor.

Of course it was a dream. The dead woman, first thanking him for saving his life, was now killing him. And he deserved every blood stain.

xxxxx

Hardison's eyes grew to a comical size. "The jail we put him in?" He swung his hand around, to encompass the room. "The jail we _all_ put him in? Including Eliot?"

Nate nodded. "Yup. Eliot thinks Moreau is his boss."

"Moreau hates us," Parker said.

"Oh, he hates us, all right," Nate agreed.

Parker thought about it. "If Moreau gets out, he'll come after us."

Nate nodded again. "Oh, he'll kill us. Yeah. Yeah, he'll kill each one of us."

Hardison stepped toward Nate. "And you want us to go down there and, what? Wave to Moreau and say 'hey man, we thought you'd kill us quick if we handed ourselves over. Sorry 'bout before'?"

"No, Hardison. I want us to go down there and stop Eliot."

"Eliot hates us," Parker said sadly.

Sophie put a comforting hand on Parker's arm. "He doesn't hate us. He doesn't know us. He's running scared."

"Eliot is never scared."

"That's not true." Hardison sat on the couch with a sigh. "He asked if I was scared once. I said yes. He said fear was good. Over confidence will put us in the ground faster than a bullet would. Course, we were being chased by Jeb and his military gang of trigger-happy goons. Anyone would be afraid."

"That does sound scary," Parker agreed.

"Oh, it wasn't that. No, I could accept that." Hardison used his whole fist to jab at his chest. "I was handcuffed to the man. You ever been handcuffed to Eliot? _Eliot?_ And he was mad."

Parker shivered.

Hardison looked at Nate. "And that was when he was on our side. You want us to take him on as an enemy? I think I'd rather turn myself in to Moreau."

"We can do this," Parker said. "It's Eliot. We know him better than he knows himself."

Sophie shook her head. "We keep telling you, we know nothing about him anymore. He's a different man."

"No, he's not. He's Eliot. I don't care if he's travelled back in time, he's still a good man. Deep down. He has a protective streak that goes so deep he was probably born with it. That doesn't just happen overnight or because of an experience. He became a soldier, not an accountant." She patted Hardison's knee. "He only kills for good."

Hardison stared at her. "That's a very comforting thought, Parker. Thank you."

"You're welcome!" She smiled genuinely.

"What's the plan, Nate?" Sophie asked.

"Hardison got us on a flight. It leaves in three hours. We pack light, we see what Eliot is up to and we stop him."

"That doesn't sound like much of a plan," Sophie pointed out.

"Yeah," Hardison said. "Where are the specifics, man? _How_ do we stop him?"

"I'm working on it." Nate raised a hand when Hardison started to speak. "I'm waiting for a call back from General Flores. We'll put him and his men on alert. I think it's too risky to move Moreau. He's well guarded, and there's only one elevator—it's impossible to break into _and_ get two men back out."

Parker's hand shot up, and she wiggled her fingers.

"Yes, Parker?"

"Didn't we break out, like, half a dozen men ourselves?"

"That's beside the point."

Hardison's eyes bulged again. "Beside the point? May I remind you that I got dumped in a pool? In my suit? While handcuffed to a chair?"

"Ooooooooh!" Parker narrowed her eyes and looked straight ahead. "That still sounds like fun."

"Fun? Fun? I assume they did that at your all-girl sleepovers?"

Parker's jaw dropped as she considered the possibility.

Nate tried to regain control of the conversation. "It's beside the point because we did that as a team. Eliot's alone in this one."

Hardison stood up and started pacing. "May I remind you that Sophie was assassinated? She can't go back there."

"I've already taken care of that." Sophie dug around in her bag and pulled out a blonde wig. "I'm going to go for an American accent." She jutted her hip out. "I'm Trish from Arkansas, how y'all doin'?"

"That's terrible," Hardison said.

"Come on." Nate waved them to the door. "We might as well wait for Flores's call at the airport."

No one moved.

He clapped his hands together. "Come on, people! We have work to do. Let's go steal us an Eliot."

"Ooooooh!" Parker bounced up and down and then ran out of the room.

Sophie collected her luggage and purse.

Hardison pulled a computer bag over his shoulder. "A pool, man. Handcuffed to a chair!"

xxxxx

Parker's excitement did not wane from the wait at the airport, the long flight or killing time until the airline found Hardison's lost bag. They were greeted at the San Lorenzo Airport by General Flores himself. The general was happy to see them and took them back to the palace, but his face went all concerned as they got down to business and discussed Eliot.

Good, Parker thought. There were times to be serious, and when a friend like Eliot was in danger, that time was now.

The problem they faced was threefold, or so Nate told them. One, Eliot was a trained killer and did not know they were the good guys. Two, they couldn't hurt Eliot yet had to stop the man who stopped at nothing. Three, everything they knew about how Eliot worked was useless and would get in the way of any plan they came up with. They had to treat him as a stranger, but knowing him as well as they did would make it almost impossible.

Hardison had agreed the problem was threefold but he said problem one was that Eliot was a trained killer, two Eliot was a trained killer and three, Eliot was a trained killer. Parker thought that should really only count as one, but Nate didn't correct him and they just kept talking about the plan, which was basically to wait for Eliot to come to them.

It sounded reasonable but also boring, so she snuck out to walk the streets and see if she could spot him. It was worth a try, and she had nothing to lose.

"_Parker, where are you?"_ Hardison's voice suddenly buzzed in her ear.

"I went for a walk. I turned on my com, see? I'm kind of still there." She knew they'd eventually realize she hadn't come back from the bathroom and that they'd try the com.

"_You just happened to want a breath of fresh air?"_

"San Lorenzo isn't all that big. Maybe Eliot needs a breath of air, too." There were all sorts of pretty flowers along this street, and a lot of buildings holding all sorts of shops and restaurants. It was busy, and she scanned the crowd for any hint of Eliot as she kept up the conversation with Hardison. Although, he could barely keep up his end of their little discussion.

She heard Hardison sigh and attempt to say something, but he kept starting over before finally settling on, _"Get your butt back here, girl."_

"I can't."

"_Why not?"_

"Because I haven't found him yet."

"_Please do not tell me you think you can…oh, man. Parker!"_

"I have to do something, Hardison. He's out here all alone, and you said he was scared. You said he doesn't know me. He's only seen Sophie, and he didn't hurt her despite thinking she was after him."

"_He hogtied Sophie."_

"That sounds like fun."

"_N-no. You-no. Girl_—_"_

"It's better than sitting around in a dank old dungeon waiting for a trained killer to come after me."

There was a long pause. _"Where are you, Parker? I think I need some air, too."_

Parker giggled. They loved to tell her how little sense she made and how illogically she saw things, but if they just listened long enough, they'd get it, too. "You can take the second shift."

"_Second shift?"_

"Yeah. If I don't find him, I'll come back there and wait, and then you can come out here and look for him."

"_The likelihood of you finding Eliot in this city is close to nil. He's going to be laying low. He probably won't come out until dark, and even then, he'll probably only come out when he's ready to free Moreau."_

"Hardison, I see—"

"_You see my point? Good. Just because you got lucky in that bar, doesn't mean you'll get lucky and just happen to magically spot Eliot at the park."_

"Hardison, I—"

His voice went high-pitched. _"Oh, look at me, I'm Parker. I think only good things will happen, and I'm so lucky."_

"But—"

"_It doesn't work that way. Just because you have a sunshine attitude and expect the universe to provide anything you want, that doesn't mean it will."_

"Yes, I—"

"_Although you do seem to be lucky, but that's all it is, Parker. Luck. You can't make luck happen."_

Parker ignored Hardison—who was totally ignoring her, anyway. She sat down on a rickety stool and tilted her head to better see the man next to her. "Hello, handsome."

"_What? Parker, are you talking to me?"_

"Hello, darlin'."

"_Wh-what are you seriou-did you just find him?"_

Parker smiled at Eliot and he smiled back, his hair nicely combed, jeans and shirt covering the bruises and cuts he must have. Poor Eliot. He smelled like cinnamon. He looked so different, so distant, but not his usual distant, a different kind of distant. She stared into those two brilliant pools of blue and…nothing. He was just some guy. He was smiling politely, not genuinely. He wasn't happy to see her. He didn't have that almost guarded look whenever she got into his face to ask him about something that was normal to her but seemed to fluster him. "Whatchadoin?" she asked him.

"_Parker, keep him there and don't do anything risky. We've got your GPS. We're on the way. Be careful."_

Eliot turned back to his nearly empty plate and bowl resting on a scuffed but clean counter of a little diner. "I'm just eating here, darlin'."

He sounded so courteous. He was treating her like a stranger.

"_Parker, I'm going to turn my com off for a minute so you can concentrate while I talk to the others. Focus on normal, light conversation. We'll all be on in a minute. She found him. I can't believe it_—_"_

Eliot turned away from her.

Parker laughed lightly, as though Eliot had said something funny, and she touched his arm. "Oooh," she cooed. "You're all muscle-y."

He turned back and smiled again, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Can I help you with something?" He sniffed at her. "It's a bit early to be drinking, don't you think?" He pushed his plate away and stood up.

"Oh, yes, I agree. Wanna come back to my place?"

Eliot sighed heavily. "Listen, darlin', I don't want to be rude but why don't you go try someone else?" He started walking down the hallway to the back door.

She followed him. "Oh, come on, Eliot."

He stopped in the middle of the dimly-lit back hall and faced her fully. He looked her up and down, the air around him electrified.

Oops. This was a lot harder than she'd thought it would be. She could know all sorts of things about a mark, but there was no familiarity. No chance to slip up like this. But he was Eliot. How did you get that out of your head? Parker shrank under his scrutinizing gaze. He smiled again; a crooked grin that had nothing to do with politeness.

Her com buzzed to life and Sophie spoke to her. _"Parker, they're on their way. Just watch him. Or if you talk to him, keep it light."_

Nate spoke next_. "Keep him there only if you can. If you can't, don't try to follow him or he'll know and take you out."_

"Do we know each other, darlin'?"

"_Oh, crap!"_ Hardison breathed.

Parker steadied herself. "Yes, Eliot. As a matter of fact, we do, but you don't remember."

"I remember everything."

"Oh, yeah? How old are you?"

He looked at her quizzically. It actually, finally looked like Eliot. "You just back away from me and you won't get hurt."

"_Back away, Parker."_

Parker stayed inches from him, refusing to back down. She was so close to Eliot, she couldn't lose him. He looked hurt and sad and really uncomfortable, but not the usual uncomfortable he adopted when she started talking to him, this was much more urgent.

"Back away, darlin'." His voice was a low growl.

"_Parker!"_ Now it was Nate.

"No," she said simply.

Eliot furrowed his brow, looking more Eliot-like than he did even before when he remembered who she was. "There's something wrong with you!" he snapped, looking past her down the hallway. He turned slightly to look over his shoulder.

It was now or never. Parker grabbed her taser and jammed it into Eliot's neck.

Only…it didn't happen the way she'd pictured it. He'd been ready for an attack and grabbed her wrist, still looking away from her. How did he do that?

He snatched the taser out of her hand and jammed it into the fleshy part of her shoulder.

That was the last thing she remembered.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Eliot caught her as she slumped to the floor. He laid her down gently. Was this her first day? They were sending rookies for him now? He didn't know if he should feel relieved or offended.

He pocketed the taser and ran out the back door. He made his way to his hotel in a zigzag pattern, and only when he was sure he wasn't being followed did he go in. She'd called him by his first name. That wasn't a mistake even a rookie would make. Why did she play it like that? Was she crazy?

He sat on the bed, trying to think. Flores had gotten himself appointed to the position of Foreign Affairs Advisor. He was known for working late, after the business part of the palace shut down for the day. Eliot would have to get to Flores at night.

There'd been a flurry of activity at the palace today, but Eliot hadn't found out why. His back was still killing him, and the headaches weren't much better. He kept falling asleep at odd times, and he wasn't sure where he was when he woke up. Sometimes he wasn't sure he _had_ woken up. Most of his experiences in San Lorenzo had been surreal, and he had this strange feeling that he was living someone else's life. The head injury must have knocked some sense into him; he knew now he had to get out from under Moreau. This life wasn't for him—he had to escape—but until he could figure out how to do it and survive, this life was the only one he had.

xxxxx

Nate ran to the back of the café and saw Parker lying against the wall of the hallway; Hardison hot on his heels.

"Parker!" Hardison called, pocketing the tracker when he saw her.

Nate knelt down to examine the bruised skin on her shoulder, peeking from her shirt. She was resting a hand over it. "Parker? Are you awake?"

"Yes." Her eyes popped open. "That really hurt."

"_She's all right?"_ Sophie breathed through the com.

Nate winced, his ear was still ringing after the screeching death of Parker's ear bud. "Did he tase you?"

"Yes!" She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "With my own taser!"

"It's your fault," Hardison said coldly, taking her hand in his. "We told you to be careful. _He _told you to be careful. And were you careful? No. You attacked him. You attacked _Eliot_! You're lucky all he did was tase you with your own gun." Hardison's hand flew to his mouth. "And now he's out there, armed with a taser!"

Nate waved his hands at them to calm down. They were still crouching in the otherwise empty corridor, and he didn't want to draw attention to themselves. Nate rested a hand on Parker's shoulder. "Why did you talk to him?"

Parker's eyes grew sad. "His plate was about empty, and he already had money on the counter. I was afraid if I followed him, he'd lose me right away. He's really good at hide `n seek. I tried to ask Hardison's opinion, but he wouldn't stop telling me how I wouldn't find him. So I tried to pick him up."

"_Oh, no,"_ Sophie breathed again.

Nate was glad Parker couldn't hear her.

"I asked him to my place."

"You did what?!" Hardison almost fell off his haunches. "Why would you do that?"

"Because that's where he'd be the safest. Then we could take care of him."

Hardison bit his lip.

"It doesn't matter now. Did you happen to slip a GPS on him?" Nate prayed he didn't sound too hopeful.

Parker looked like she was holding back tears. "Where's Sophie? Sophie? Are you there?"

"Your com blew when Eliot tased you. Here." Hardison held up a new one, and she tucked it into her ear.

"I messed up, Sophie. I didn't think it through. I didn't bring an extra."

"_It's okay, Parker."_

"It's not! You thought to do it when you were shocked and didn't even know what was wrong with him. I failed him, Sophie."

"_Welcome to the club."_

Parker crossed her arms and stuck out her lower lip.

Hardison shook his head and stood. Bending at the waist, he offered his hand. "Come on, Parker."

"No."

"Let's regroup at the palace. We found him once, we can find him again."

"Absolutely not," Nate said. He was putting an end to this once and for all. "No one's going after him."

Parker smiled at Hardison. "Really?"

Hardison nodded. "We'll find him. We have to."

"No, we're not," Nate repeated.

Parker took Hardison's hand and pulled herself up. "I figure he's staying at a hotel. If we can just stake them out—"

"No! No stake out. No more splitting up, and no more going after Eliot—especially alone."

Hardison spoke to Parker. "We'll have to split up. Do you know how many hotels are within a five mile radius of the palace?"

"Hello?" Nate waved his hands, trying to keep his voice low. "I know you can hear me. You can't pretend the com is out, I'm standing right in front of you."

Hardison held out his arm, and Parker took it. "We'll have to be prepared."

"No prepared. No going after Eliot!"

Parker nodded. "Super prepared. We'll each need to carry like a dozen extra ear buds and we're going to need a lot more tasers."

"For Eliot? We'll need like a hundred tasers. And a tranquilizer gun. One of those they use for the elephants or the bears. And tear gas—no, sleeping gas."

"Ooooh! Sleepy gas. I like sleepy gas."

"No sleepy gas." Nate was forced to follow them out the back as they walked down the hall, continuing their ridiculous conversation.

"_Nate, just get them back here. We'll argue later."_

"We'll need ice," Parker said.

"What for?" Hardison asked.

"For when the tasers, tranquilizers and sleepy gas don't work. He'll get mad—really mad—and beat all of us up. One of us will have to remain conscious long enough because he'll tire himself out eventually. Then that person can shackle him."

"No shackling!" Nate called after them desperately.

Hardison turned to him. "Are you kidding, man? Lots of shackles. Lots and lots of shackles—this is Eliot." He focused on Parker again. "I don't really like your plan."

"Which part?" she asked curiously.

"Well, the part where Eliot is beating the crap out of us. I'm just not a fan of that."

"It's a work in progress. Nate will smooth out the finer points. Maybe Eliot won't beat us up."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe. He didn't look too good just now."

"You called him handsome before."

"It's Eliot. He'd have to be, like, all mangled up in a car crusher to not be handsome anymore."

"Parker!"

"I just wonder if he'll easily slip out of the shackles because he'll be really slippery, covered in our blood and all."

Nate blew out a breath. "No blood."

* * *

xxxxxx

_A/N: I don't know if the taser would blow the ear bud. Since the ear buds are made up by Hardison, I don't think they ever said, one way or the other. In the homeless episode, Eliot gets tased and he's on the com later, but maybe he wasn't wearing it at the time or he had extras. So, in my fic, the com in the ear will blow from the taser.  
_

_Since this is another short chapter, I'm going to post another chapter tomorrow._


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Thank you all, again, for your wonderful reviews! Thank you Kaneswolf, the encouragement is well received and very much appreciated. And , I'm so glad you love it!  
_

_I think that Eliot/dog-fighting scene is open to interpretation. I took Eliot's words and demeanor to mean he was all for it. He was happy, beaming and even gleeful. In my experience, no one who is calling people out for any kind of animal cruelty is happy, beaming or gleeful. They are somber, sickened and even livid. Luckily, it doesn't matter who is "right" or who is "wrong", because the eight-year-old took it to mean Eliot _was_ for it, and reacted as only a kid could_—_and get away with it.  
_

_Enjoy this next (short) chapter!  
_

_And Happy Mother's Day to every mother out there!  
_

* * *

Chapter Eight  


Eliot drove the sedan, getting into position. He saw her, on the phone, standing in the middle of the arc of the driveway in front of the hotel. The place was bustling with people, but that should work to his advantage. Her curly blonde hair bounced over the blue top of her pantsuit. She wore black slacks and shoes with just a little heel. She was a reporter…or something. That didn't seem right, but…she was.

She started walking.

It was time.

He pressed his foot on the gas and jerked the steering wheel hard. He sped down the driveway and ran her over. She bounced off his car with a yelp and landed face down on the pavement.

Eliot jumped out of the car and then forced calm. He had a job to do. He knelt down and grabbed her hip, turning her face up. Somewhere in his mind, he winced. Never, ever move an accident victim unless the car was about to blow up. But he did it, and he wasn't gentle. He rummaged through her purse, purposeful but calm. He had it, the red file, in his hands.

Looking up, he saw another blonde woman, staring at him in horror. Everyone else was shocked—but she was terrified. She must know the dead woman. As she stared at him, the faintest hint of recognition spread across her face. So she knew him, too.

He locked eyes with this other blonde and felt the slightest trace of a smile form at his lips before getting to his feet and returning to the car. "Move," he growled at a bystander getting a little too close. He didn't even bother peeling out; he just drove away with that file.

Then he drove back.

He saw her standing in front of him, on the phone.

She started walking.

He pressed his foot on the gas and jerked the wheel.

She bounced off his car.

Eliot woke with a shout. He wiped his face, covered in sweat again. He knew the woman, the dead one, the one he'd just killed. It was the same woman who was at the café, the one that tried to taser him.

Eliot stumbled to the shower and disrobed quickly. He had to get back to the library. What time was it? It was still daylight, they should be open. He pulled on his jeans and grabbed a fresh shirt and headed downstairs.

He took the stairs, not the elevator, even though he was feeling weaker the more sleep he got. Stairs were more defendable, though he'd never had trouble dispatching an attacker in an elevator. He just felt better with the stairs seeming to have more escapes.

He walked through the lobby and stopped short at a glass door. It led to a tiny room with a single chair and a computer. The sign said it was for hotel guests.

Interesting idea. He'd prefer saving a trip to the library. He was tired, and the energy he expended making sure he wasn't being followed was taking its toll. Besides, after being kicked in the shins by an eight-year-old and almost tasered by a newbie, he didn't want to know what else was out there waiting for him.

He pulled on the door, but it was locked.

"You have to use your room key."

Eliot whirled around. The desk clerk waved at him and pointed to a lock at the side of the door. Eliot thanked him and put his card in the slot. The door clicked, and he stepped inside.

It was hardly bigger than a closet and the computer and chair faced the wall, forcing him to sit with his back to the glass window. He'd have to talk to them about security, this was ridiculous.

Eliot remembered the name of the hotel in the dream—he had to guess at the city—and typed it in with 'hit-and-run'. The third link down showed promise. He clicked it.

'Man runs into blonde woman and then hops out of the car to steal an item from her purse. Witnesses say he didn't take the purse, only a red folder.'

Eliot's breath left his body. He stared at the screen, lightheaded.

He'd killed her.

In real life, not in a dream, he killed that blonde woman and took her files. It all had to do with government secrets—but which government?

It was for the general. Or…because of the general. The general gave the orders, and Eliot followed them. The general had told him to run the blonde woman down, and Eliot obeyed. General Flores? No, that didn't sound right.

How was any of this possible? He didn't remember running down a blonde, but he must have. Who dreamt of taking a red file and then it turned out, in reality, you had?

That someone was him.

He'd gone to the café for a quick bite. He'd been growing weak from hunger, the headaches and nausea doing nothing for his appetite. He had to get to Flores. He'd needed strength, and soup and a sandwich sounded good. And then she was next to him. The woman he'd run over was smiling at him and touching his arm. He'd felt it. She was real. She was there!

The door clicked behind him. He shot out of the chair, sinking into a defensive stance. A red-headed older woman grabbed her chest in fright.

He straightened and pushed the hair out of his face. "Sorry, ma'am."

"My goodness, young man. You're a bit jumpy, aren't you?"

"I am ma'am, lost in thought. I'm sorry if I scared you."

"If? It's safe to say you nearly scared me to death."

"I apologize. Please excuse me."

"It's okay, young man. You scared the manners right out of me." She reached toward him. "Do you need any help?"

Eliot couldn't speak. She was being nice. Everyone was being nice. The whole world was being nice to him, except for the eight-year-olds and the dead women he didn't remember killing. And now, he was sure he would go back upstairs, fall asleep despite his best efforts not to, and dream about killing this nice old lady.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: You guys were right! When Tacodestroyeravenger first mentioned the thought that Eliot raised awareness for dog fighting, and did not promote it, I rewatched the scene, and it did not change my mind.  
_

_When Gilbert H. Karr said the same thing_—_that Eliot was an activist against the terrible dog fighting_—_I rewatched the scene another three times.  
_

_Guess what? If you listen really closely, after the guy smashes the glass and right before we see Eliot on the television, a voice can be heard stating they are about to interview a Canadian animal rights activist.  
_

_Man! I never heard that, the several times I watched the scene! I was so careful to watch every scene that I refer to in this story, to be as accurate as possible, and somehow, I missed that.  
_

_(I _still_ say no animal rights activist is that happy-go-lucky, but maybe they were teasing Canadians for being so polite. :) __)  
_

_I won't change it in the story because, if I can misinterpret that, so could an eight-year-old, but man! You, my fellow fans, are so awesome and eagle-eared!  
_

_Here is a nice long chapter for you guys to sink your teeth into…  
_

* * *

Chapter Nine

"No, Parker!" Nate couldn't believe he was having this conversation.

"I'll jump with him. I'll be in a harness, of course, but he won't have to do it alone."

"No."

Hardison took over. "Parker, we want to save Eliot, not kill him."

"He didn't die the first time. We're surrounded by water. I'm sure we could find a nice, broken down pier, and then we can push Eliot over the side."

Nate squeezed his eyes shut. They were in General Flores's office. The general was on the ground floor, talking to his men, thank God.

"We have to push him off a pier. That's the only way to fix his memory. I saw in on _Charles In Charge_."

Hardison held his hands up. "I did not show her those DVDs."

"Parker." Sophie glided over to her. "Listen, sweetie, we have a slower but kinder way to do it."

"What, Nate's plan? Keep him chained up until he eventually remembers everybody? He'll kill himself trying to escape. My way is more humane."

Hardison spoke to Nate. "Knocking Eliot out is definitely on my list of things to do, but, unlike Parker, I think we need to do it with drugs, nothing physical. If Sophie's right and he's got a concussion, that's a brain injury. I don't even know if drugs will hurt him more, but he's like a wild animal who's got a knife sticking out of his leg, and we just want to treat him before releasing him back into the wild. But to do that, we've got to take him down. How do we do that without hurting him? How exactly are we going to do that at all, Nate?"

Nate rubbed a hand over his face. "Vittori approved Moreau's dinner. There's enough tranquilizer in it to knock him out until morning. The plan is to let Eliot get to Moreau's cell. He goes in, we shut it up tight. Moreau is out, and we have 'til morning to hit Eliot with the tranquilizer."

"Lock Eliot in a cell with Moreau?"

"Moreau wouldn't be a threat to Eliot even if he was awake, and Eliot thinks Moreau is his boss. Why else did he come to San Lorenzo? No, no, no, he won't hurt him."

Hardison's voice raised a pitch. "And if we can't get Eliot in the cell? Or if he somehow makes it out?"

"Moreau will be dead weight. It'll slow Eliot down. The plan stands. We let Eliot in, but we do not let him out."

Hardison nodded. "It _sounds_ good…"

Sophie bit her lip. "…but it's Eliot."

xxxxx

Eliot was trapped. He was a prisoner. One of the guards held a taser to his chest, but Eliot had the guard's wrist and was holding him away. He meant to break that wrist, grab the taser and get out of there.

But that's not what he did. He had an overwhelming urge to stay. His brain screamed at him, but he eased off the guy's wrist. He really didn't want to do it but he did, and the guard shoved the taser into Eliot's chest and Eliot blacked out.

He woke up in a cold, wet dungeon. He was locked in a cell. All he had was a cot, a short-sleeve shirt and a terrible headache. What was that noise? It was blaring, it was cranked up so loud the sound waves reverberated off the stone walls in his cramped prison, and he thought his ears would bleed.

He was so distracted he didn't hear someone pick the lock on his door, but he watched it spring open. He tensed, at the ready, his body shivering from the freezing temps.

A blonde woman crept in and wrapped a blanket around his chest, pushing the edges around his arms and legs and under his chin nice and tight.

"There," she said happily. "I just tucked you in. Now you have to tuck me in one day when I'm all worried."

"I'm not wor—"

"I brought you some food, too. I wanted to bring you a TV, but Hardison says you don't watch TV, but I've seen you watch TV, but he wouldn't let me bring the TV—"

"Stop saying 'TV'!" he snapped.

"So I brought you this instead." She waggled a stuffed animal in his face. She whispered, and he had to read her lips because he couldn't hear over the screaming music. "It's Mr. Bunny!"

Eliot shot out of the hotel bed. The woman he mowed down in the middle of the day in public…brought him a stuffed animal when he was being tortured.

He wiped his face with a bare arm. He began to seriously consider the possibility that his mind was turning against him. That he was…could he be cracking up? Could it be the concussion? He was having flashbacks of things he didn't remember doing but of things that had actually happened.

Maybe he'd have to see a doctor. But what could he say? 'Hey, Doc, I'm meeting these people I don't remember killing.' They'd try and lock him up. An examination room had more weapons than he needed, but that wouldn't really be fair to the medical staff.

At least he hadn't dreamt about murdering the red-headed old lady.

He remembered every kill up until this point. He remembered why he did it. Not as a justification, but it was a choice he'd made. He had no sense of this one. She looked like Barbie but without the sexual or airhead connotations. She had a purity and an innocence. She was like Barbie's little sister, Skipper.

Eliot didn't know what was more disturbing, the fact that he knew the name of Barbie's little sister—or that Barbie even _had_ a little sister—or not remembering anything about this woman he'd killed.

He felt the opposite of every negative emotion for her. He was drawn to her, like he wanted to protect her. Maybe that was why he'd dreamt about being imprisoned and tortured, and she appeared from nowhere to tuck him in.

Eliot leaned back on the bed. It was hours before sundown. He would get Flores tonight. He was concerned that Moreau might send someone else—and Eliot would be next on his list. Or that Eliot's brain would finally lose the battle and render him capable of nothing more than drooling on the floor and getting tasered by ghosts.

xxxxx

Every time Eliot's eyes slid shut, he saw her. He tried to force his eyes open, but they wouldn't cooperate. The last thing he needed to do was sleep, but it happened anyway.

He was at the carnival. He wasn't happy about it. In fact, he was pissed. He tried not to feel the full force of his rage, but something had set him off and he pounded the rides and started hitting people.

Whack! The ride hit him back. He felt his body go flying backward, and then he was face down, his body screaming at him. His head spun, but he had to get to the child.

There was a child—a girl—that needed him. He had to get to her. He heard her calling for him, deep in his mind, a scared, little voice, calling from the dark, but Eliot couldn't move. He had to get up, no matter the cost. He forced his eyes open and regretted it immediately, but he picked himself up. Hardison was in his ear, calling his name, over and over. _Shut up! I'm trying to concentrate!_ He said nothing and limped to the girl.

Eliot groaned in the hotel bed, awake again. He'd never rescued a girl from a carnival. He'd never got taken out by a carnival ride, either. He'd remember that.

It was that woman's fault, the one from the café. He'd fallen asleep thinking about her childlike tendencies. He didn't hurt kids. Even Moreau didn't push him on that. Eliot knew it made little difference—Moreau just hired someone else to do it. Some of Moreau's men would kill whole families just to get their target.

Eliot didn't belong there, but he couldn't get out.

He squeezed his eyes shut for just a second.

He was dressed in red; red jacket, red pants, everything lined in white. He wore a big black belt around his fat waist. Scratching his chin, he got a fistful of itchy white hair. He looked down at his big black boots and heard a jingling sound. It was coming from his red hat.

He jingled!

A woman in green walked toward him. She wore pointy shoes—she wasn't a woman, she was an elf! An elf who was leading a kid toward Eliot.

"No, no!" Eliot screamed.

The kid picked his nose and held it out to him.

"Oh, God!" he cried.

The elf hissed at him, "Behave, Santa."

Santa? Now he was Santa Claus? And the elf was the hit-and-run/taser/stuffed bear woman?

The room spun, and he fell off the Santa chair. Now he was in another dungeon. No, a tunnel. He was squared off against four Santas. And he was taunting them.

"We doin' this beards or without beards, boys?"

Then he proceeded to beat the crap out of Santa Claus.

Eliot shot out of bed yet again, and raised a trembling hand to his face. He was so messed up he didn't know what to think. There wasn't much more he could do before admitting defeat.

xxxxx

"And then we could cover the ropes with leaves and mud."

"Leaves and mud?" Hardison shook his head at Parker. "You don't think it might be a little obvious?"

"We'd have to hide the trap or he won't step into it. The rope will grab his ankle, yank him up, and then we can talk to him until he gets his memory back."

"I don't think we should string up a concussed man. I keep telling you that's a brain injury."

"His brain will be upside down," Parker said as if that explained everything.

Nate pinched the bridge of his nose. They just might be very slowly going insane.

Hardison tried again. "It's not a forest, Parker. This is Moreau's cell and I'm pretty sure Eliot would spot a rope covered with leaves and mud in a jail cell. I'm pretty sure Eliot would spot a rope covered with leaves and mud in the woods no matter how hidden. With a concussion. And blindfolded."

"It'll be dark. No one can be threatening while upside down."

Sophie walked to the window. "I think it would make Eliot mad."

Parker's face paled a little. Nate was starting to get a little pissed himself. He was worried. Worried that his plan would go south. Worried that he'd missed something or one of the guards would forget Eliot was a good guy or Eliot would manage to slip past them. Or that somehow, despite his best efforts, despite thinking through every scenario he could come up with, Eliot might end up hurt. The fact that he was already hurt and that the rest of the team kept coming up with ways to incapacitate him—that were getting more ridiculous by the suggestion—did not improve his mood any. They stood and sat around General Flores's office, Flores sitting behind the desk, quiet. At least someone was quiet.

"What if we got a cat and dressed him up as a—"

"That's it." Nate jumped out of his chair. "Out." He pushed Parker toward the door. "Out." He grabbed Hardison along the way and steered him towards the door, too. "Sophie."

"What?" Sophie asked.

"Out!"

"Me?"

"All of you! It's getting dark. Man your stations. No ropes, no tasers, no piers and no cats. Just do like I've said and be careful."

"But—"

"Get out."

Sophie grabbed her wig and hat and followed Parker and Hardison out the door. Nate shut it behind them and leaned against it.

Flores kept his feet resting on his desk as he leaned back in the chair. "I assume I am allowed to stay?"

"Sorry, General, but they're…" he coughed nervously and flicked off his com. "They're driving me nuts. I need to think. We need to focus."

"You're quite a team. Some days I wake up in disbelief at what you accomplished here, not so long ago."

"We're happy to help. Sorry this happened."

Flores waved a hand. "Do not apologize, my friend. I knew Eliot before any of you. He is quite the man."

"That's true. That's what I'm worried about."

"You are all worried about it. Don't take that away from them."

"They need to focus."

"It is their way of handling the stress." Flores took his feet off the desk and leaned forward. "Except for Parker. I gather she is like this all the time? Even while on vacation?"

Nate laughed and turned the com back on. They were talking over each other, talking to themselves. Sophie was complaining that Nate had cut them off, Hardison was upset that his computer wasn't working, and Parker was wondering if she could get Eliot to eat some of Moreau's dinner.

Maybe Flores was right and Nate should let them…express themselves. He calmed himself before speaking. "Sophie, did you want something?"

The others fell silent.

"_I was just thinking what'll happen if Eliot doesn't try to free Moreau tonight. What if he tries tomorrow or the next day?"_

"Then we'll be here, waiting."

"_No matter how long it takes,"_ Hardison said.

Parker spoke softly. _"Eliot would do it for us."_

Without a complaint, Nate thought, remembering Parker's earlier words. Eliot was the quietest of the group. He rarely spoke on the com if it wasn't a necessity. The most professional of them all. Or maybe it was his predatory instincts, always on the alert for any hint of danger. Eliot probably didn't listen to ninety percent of the ramblings over the com. Nate wished he could tune them out, but he had his job and in order to lead them, he had to listen to them—though it should be the other way around.

Although, Eliot had started chatting over the coms, a little bit here and there. He was comfortable, more open with them. Nate noticed.

They waited in silence for a half an hour; 'they' referring to Flores and himself. The others chatted ceaselessly, and Nate allowed himself the luxury of tuning them out. The thought of enduring this for a whole night was unbearable, but if Eliot really did wait a few days to strike….

A couple of hours passed.

"_Nate, the security camera just went black on the east side,"_ Hardison reported.

Nate stood up. "This is it, people. Are we ready?" He glanced at Flores who nodded. Over the com, he got a quiet yes, a nervous yes and an excited yes. They were in position in the cells of the dungeon next to Moreau. Most of the guards lay in wait by the elevator, out of sight. Eliot shouldn't notice the light staff because of the cameras they placed everywhere. Technology was replacing people every day, even back whenever Eliot thought he was.

That was another problem with going to ground. You rarely grabbed a newspaper or looked at the date if you did. It was only about survival, and normal things didn't filter in, especially with a concussion clouding your judgment and taking most of your attention without you even realizing it.

A good fifteen minutes passed. Then another ten.

Flores stood from his desk. "It will be okay. We will get him back."

"_Nate, shouldn't he be here by now?"_ Sophie asked.

He'd just been thinking the same thing. "Eliot is a careful man. Keep calm, be ready and be careful." Everyone was silent, even Parker had nothing to say. Nate regretted his wish coming true. There was nothing to distract him now. He opened his mouth to ask Hardison about the security cameras when he heard a grunt and a thump. "What was that?"

"_What was what, Nate?"_ Hardison asked.

Flores stood behind his desk. "I heard that, too."

Nate turned to Flores. "It didn't come over the com?"

"_What didn't?"_ Sophie asked.

There was another thump, this one closer. Both Nate and Flores turned their heads as one. "It came from out there?" Nate whispered, pointing at the door.

Flores nodded.

"_Are you talking to us?"_ Sophie asked.

Nate racked his brain and came up with one more scenario he hadn't considered. He sprang to life, ran for the door and secured the lock. "Quick, help me with this."

Flores moved fast and rounded the desk in a second, but it was too late. Someone was kicking down the door.

Nate's heart pumped fast, but he forced calm. "Uh, guys, we have a problem here."

"_What is it, Nate?"_ Sophie demanded._ "What's going on?"_

The door flung open with a snap, and Eliot marched in, a scowl in place that made Nate's blood run cold. Eliot had always been there when they'd needed him, and now that Eliot was the one in need, Nate had screwed up. He screwed up on one of the most important jobs he'd ever been on.

Eliot scanned the room, blocking any escape while he did it, before focusing on General Flores. "I'm Eliot Spencer, and I've been sent here to kill you."

Nate whispered, "I've joined the club."


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Get ready for another cliffhanger…  
_

Chapter Ten

Nate watched Eliot raise the gun in his right hand. He wasn't aiming it at them. His hair hung loose around his pale face, and Nate could tell that his stance, while imposing and threatening, was a little off. Eliot held up his left hand. "Don't move. Don't speak."

Nate and Flores exchanged a glance.

Eliot wrenched the broken door closed and pushed a filing cabinet in front of it. He never took his eyes off them, but he grunted with the effort and, for a split second, Nate wanted to help him. It was weird. He could see now why Sophie followed him up to the pier and why Parker accidentally called him by name.

The cabinet in place blocking the door, Eliot faced them fully, but he leaned against the piece of furniture to catch his breath. His skin was still pale, but his cheeks reddened. He raised the gun. "Sit down. Put your hands where I can see them."

Nate was about to comply when Flores said, "No. You come into my office waving a gun? What do you want?"

Eliot glared at the general. "Sit. Down."

Flores lowered himself into his seat behind the desk and folded his hands in front of him.

Eliot turned to Nate, and Nate sat down on a chair perpendicular to the desk, avoiding Eliot's eyes and that intense heat.

"Who is this man?" Eliot demanded.

"I'm Nathan Ford."

Eliot trained his gun on Nate, not Flores. Nate didn't like that. Besides the obvious uncomfortable—though familiar—feeling, it didn't make sense. The others were deathly quiet over the com. The tension in the room ratcheted up by his one link to the outside world seemingly cut off.

Eliot turned to Flores. "Who is this man to you?"

"He is my friend."

"Friend?" Eliot scoffed. "Do you trust him?"

"With my life."

Eliot's eyes widened at that. "You're trusting him with mine." He sagged against the cabinet then quickly righted himself. "Okay, Mr. Ford, it seems you're going to have to be trusted."

This was so strange. "What did you have in mind?"

Eliot ignored him and stepped toward the desk, still keeping Nate in his line of sight. "General Flores, Damien Moreau sent me to kill you. You have enemies in high places. You're not safe. Your family isn't safe. Your home, your car, your food isn't safe. Do you have friends you can trust?" He stared at Nate before continuing. "Who have the means to hide you? If you don't, I do."

"That's exactly what he said the first time," Flores said to Nate.

"First time what?" Eliot barked.

"The first time we met, and the first time you said this to me."

"This is the first time we met, and this is the first time I've said this to you."

"Eliot, this isn't necessary," Flores said.

Eliot breathed through his nose. Something seemed to have ticked him off, and he clenched his jaw. "If Moreau finds out I didn't kill you, he'll send more men after you." He jabbed a finger at the blocked door. "And if I can get through your so-called security, anyone can."

Nate snickered. "That is so not true, Eliot."

Eliot took a step toward him and Nate flinched. "Whatever happened to 'Mr. Spencer'? Why does nobody call me 'Mr. Spencer' anymore? I gave you the courtesy of 'Mr. Ford', you think you could do the same for me!"

Nate was shocked.

"_See? You slipped up just like I did,"_ Parker whispered.

"_Why's he so angry about it?"_ Hardison asked.

Sophie answered. _"He has no control. His whole life has turned upside down. Nate, I'm worried. He sounds about to crack."_

She was worried? "Do nothing," he hissed as soft as he could.

"What did you say?" Eliot demanded.

Nate's voice hitched. "It would sound ridiculous to call you Mr. Spencer."

Eliot looked thoroughly confused. "Why?"

Nate shrugged. "Because you're Eliot."

Eliot took another step toward him. "That's not an answer—" Eliot gasped. He blinked a couple of times, staring at Nate in disbelief. "General?"

Flores said, "Yes?"

Eliot's lips moved but he didn't say anything, he just stood in front of Nate.

Nate wanted to run. He swallowed hard and squirmed in the seat.

Eliot bent at the waist, just out of reach, not that Nate would have tried anything. "General Chesler?"

Nate tried to burrow back into his seat, feeling like a rat in a barrel with a large cat glaring at him and reaching his paw in.

"General Chesler. You- you sent me to kill Skipper."

Nate wasn't following, and he didn't know if it was because Eliot wasn't making sense, or because his mind was screaming 'run' and he couldn't focus on much of anything else. He had to see past the panic and keep Eliot calm. "I don't know what you're—"

Eliot lurched forward and jammed his gun to Nate's temple. "You did it! You made me kill her!"

Nate's heart stopped beating.

"_Nate, what's going on?"_ Sophie asked.

Nate's voice came out so soft. "Eliot, nobody can make you kill. Only you can. And I've never told you to kill anybody." Nate gasped as Eliot grabbed him by the hair and pushed the gun harder into his head. Everything grayed as adrenaline flooded his system, but he couldn't move.

Flores stood up. "Eliot, you said you came here to kill me."

"No! I said I was sent here to kill you. After-after you get hidden safely…" Eliot eased off of Nate and stumbled backward. "I can't go on like this. I don't remember who I killed or why."

"It's okay, Eliot." Flores reached a hand out to him.

"It's not okay! I kil—" his voice cracked. "I killed your first lady. I killed her." Eliot snapped his fingers. "Just like that." He stumbled back again and looked at Nate. "I ran over that blonde. Just like that. I stole the file for you."

"I never ordered you to kill anyone."

"You did! You did and then, you were about to tell me to kill the other woman, the witness. She was in your apartment." He squinted in thought. "I just killed Hardison, and that woman sprayed you with mace, but you thought it was water. Wait, that doesn't make sense."

It clicked for Nate. He had posed as General Chesler and he had told Eliot to run Parker over as part of a con. Eliot was remembering bits and pieces of his past.

"_Did he just say my name?"_

"You remember Hardison, then?" Nate prodded.

"Of course I do. He's my brother."

"_His brother? You hear that? Dude is crazy and he thinks Nate's a general, thinks he's killed two of you, he hogtied Sophie, he tasered Parker, but he thinks I'm his brother."_

"Hardison," Nate whispered for him to stop.

Eliot sank against the desk, still keeping Nate and Flores in sight, holding the gun loosely in his hand. "He's blue."

"_I'm what? What did he just call me?"_

"He can't, can't be blue. We were both blue."

Then it made sense to Nate. "When you were cops!"

"Yes! That's…that's right. When we were cops. Cops." He looked at Nate in confusion. "I was never a cop."

"Yeah, Eliot, and you never assassinated Sophie, and you never ran over Parker."

"Who's Sophie? Who's Parker?"

"_See y'all? He remembers my name. That's my buddy, right there. Nate, can you bring it home so we can bust down this door and see him?"_

Eliot waved the gun around.

"Not a good idea," Nate hissed.

Eliot turned to him. "What did you say?"

"You were injured at the pier and lost your—"

"This whole thing started at the pier. The headaches, the—" he stopped as though he'd given something away. He turned to Flores. "Your first lady was at the pier."

"I know. She's your friend."

"That's sick." Eliot took a steadying breath and straightened his back. He was suddenly very calm. "I came here to save you."

"You did." Flores smiled brightly. "You succeeded."

"Not until I get you someplace safe. Do you have friends?"

Flores leaned toward him in earnest. "Eliot Spencer, you have already saved my life."

"I've only postponed your death unless you get somewhere safe."

"You don't understand. I'm not in danger. You saved my life, and I am forever grateful."

Eliot shrugged, extremely tranquil. "It doesn't really count, sir. I was sent here to kill you, remember?"

"But you didn't. You chose to save my life. Again."

Eliot tilted his head. "If you insist, sir, but it can only really count as a half."

Hardison spoke up again. _"That's Eliot! That's my boy!"_

Flores rounded the desk. "Can you put the gun down? Can we come up with a plan?"

Eliot's jaw unclenched. His eyes softened as he looked at the general. Nate could see it, Eliot wanted to. He wanted so badly to rest, to let go. To not think. To not have to survive. He saw the soldier in Eliot.

By the time Nate had met him, Eliot had worked alone for so long, he'd forgotten how to work in a group. But this Eliot, missing more than a decade of his life, was much younger and closer to the time he'd served in the military. He wanted to work with them now. He respected General Flores. He remembered Nate as a general when they went after that reporter. His jumbled memories were coming out in connections that he didn't see, and he was putting the pieces together, coming up with the wrong pictures.

Eliot's shoulders slumped, and for the first time Nate noticed they were uneven. At the pier, he'd landed on his back. It must be killing him. No wonder he looked like death warmed over.

Eliot shook his head. "I can't, General. Damien Moreau's out there."

"Right. And you're going to help me. Isn't that so?"

"Well, yes but—"

"Then put the gun away. Let's talk about this plan."

"I can't give up my gun."

Nate spoke softly. "You hate guns."

"I know but—" Eliot straightened up again, back on edge. "How do you know that?"

Nate sighed. It was a risky comment and it backfired. He'd just made things worse—again. And then the strangest thing happened. Eliot's jaw slackened until his mouth hung open. He looked past Nate. Fear shone from his eyes, and he shrank into himself.

Nate fought his curiosity—he wanted to see what was behind him but was afraid to turn his back on Eliot. "What is it, Eliot?"

"I'm haunted." Eliot took a breath and steadied himself. "I deserve it. I'll look her in the eye because she deserves it."

Nate watched Eliot, his gun pointed to the floor, and risked everything to glance over his shoulder. Nate's eyes widened in shock. "Oh my God, what are you doing?"

Parker was hanging upside down outside the window, her ponytail bouncing under her. She waved happily.

Eliot held a hand to his forehead. "You see her, too?"

"Unfortunately," Nate breathed.

"She's kind of hard to miss," Flores said.

"Then she's…she's really here?"

"Of course."

"But that's the woman I ran down."

Parker banged on the glass and Eliot flinched, but he stood his ground.

"I'm going to open it." Flores moved to the window.

Nate stayed where he was.

Parker hung outside the window and smiled. "Yes, you did run me down. You did it beautifully. I barely even bruised."

Eliot dropped the gun on the desk. Flores, by the window, looked at Nate. Nate shook his head. Eliot was just as dangerous without a gun, it just wasn't as obvious.

"Who are you?" Eliot asked.

"I'm Parker, silly. And see? I'm upside down."

Eliot nodded at her.

"Don't I look non-threatening upside down?"

"Darlin', you'd look non-threatening in a Sherman tank."

"Eliot, you made a joke!" She climbed in and perched on the windowsill. "That's not like you."

"Of course it's not. None of this is."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"It means I'm waiting for Santa Clause to come through the chimney." He sighed, studying the carpet. "And then I can beat the crap out of him again."

A twinge caught Nate in the gut. Eliot was having flashbacks, memories he didn't remember from cons they'd done over the last few years. His brain tried to make sense of them without the knowledge that they were cons or knowing any of the players. It could get so confusing he could easily think he was going insane.

"Silly, Santa lives at the North Pole."

"Course he does, Skipper." Eliot leaned against the desk and folded his arms across his chest. He stared at them.

Parker whispered loudly, "What's he waiting for?"

Nate was in unfamiliar territory. If Eliot thought he was losing his mind, would he come quietly? He was quite calm right now, but if they pressed him, he might fall back on what he knew and fight them. Nate wished he had a tranquilizer dart or a taser or God forbid a rope covered with leaves and mud.

"Eliot," Flores began. "Would you like something to eat?"

"You don't have to eat in dreams."

Nate regarded him carefully. "You think this is a dream?"

"That is so cool!" Parker clapped excitedly. "Can I be a ballerina? I've always wanted to be a ballerina. Or a race car driver."

Nate heard Hardison suck in a breath over the com, but he said nothing.

"Sure darlin', you can be whatever you want."

She danced over to him. "I want to be your friend."

Eliot rolled his eyes. "Oh, brother."

"_Is he talking to me?"_

"_Hardison!"_ Sophie called.

"You don't really think this is a dream, do you?" Parker asked.

"I wish it was that simple."

"Me, too!" Parker grinned at him.

"Am I really this corny?" Eliot lifted his palms, his arms still crossed over his chest.

"How do you mean?" Parker asked.

"In one dream, you're outside of a hotel, and I run you down. In another, I'm being tortured, and you give me a stuffed toy. That sounds pretty cornball to me."

Parker clapped her hands and bounced onto the desk, deftly moving the gun toward Flores. "Mr. Bunny!"

Eliot tensed. He stared at Parker, threateningly, until she slid off and backed away. He uncrossed his arms. Nate stood from his chair, risking an attack for the distraction. Eliot pushed off the desk, and Parker pulled out her taser and shoved it at his back. Eliot twisted around, snatched it from her hands and jammed it into her torso.

"Parker! Ah!" Nate ripped out his com as it popped in his ear.

Eliot faced him, holding the taser out, defensively. He looked at the ear bud in Nate's hand. Then he whirled on Flores. Flores had the gun. Eliot turned sideways, making himself less of a target. It was a reflex, Nate thought. He didn't even know he was doing it. He was running on adrenaline and instinct.

"I came here to help you." Eliot sounded desperate.

Flores opened a desk drawer, and Eliot braced himself for an attack. Flores dropped the gun in the drawer, shut it, produced a key and locked it.

"Why did you do that?" Eliot asked.

"You're running ragged. You have to trust someone, Eliot, you have to. You trusted your life to me just now. You warned me of Moreau. You warned me of a contract on my life. Can you trust me?"

Eliot glared around the room; from Parker lying on the floor, to Nate, Flores, the door and then the window. "Maybe, but the company you keep…why haven't the guards come in yet?"

"What?" Flores asked, thrown at the change of topic.

Eliot backed up, waving the taser at Nate.

Nate was sure to keep his hands raised.

"You're all in on this. You trapped me in here."

Nate shook his head. "You barged in and blocked the door."

"Don't play your mind games on me, General. I don't work for you. I won't kill for you. Not anymore." And with that, Eliot darted across the room and jumped out the window.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: One chapter today and the next tomorrow._

_(I just like torturing you guys with cliffhangers, but I'll only make you wait one day for this one.)_

Chapter Eleven

Since Flores ran to the window, Nate dove to the floor. "Parker?" He didn't want to shake her shoulder because of the earlier taser incident, and he was afraid to lift her up because of the fresh injury. She was breathing regularly. "Parker, can you hear me?" Nate patted her cheeks. "Come on, wake up." She groaned at him. "Come on, say something."

Her eyes popped open. "That's the second time he's done that."

"To be fair, it's the second time you attacked him."

"That's true." She struggled to get up, and she let Nate help her get to a sitting position, propped against the heavy desk. "Ah! I am so sore." She clutched her middle and looked around. "Where's Eliot?"

Nate ran a hand through his hair. "He jumped out the window."

"He what?!"

Flores called out, "He used your rappelling equipment."

"But it's not set up for him—"

"No, he didn't use it like that. He scaled the wall."

"He scaled the wall?" Nate repeated.

"He's on the roof."

Nate sat back on his haunches and held his face in his hands.

Parker shook her head. "It's all my fault. I had him. I was getting through to him. I mentioned Mr. Bunny."

"When did you give it to him?"

"At that school when he was down there with those homeless people, and they were playing really loud music and made them freeze." She wrapped her hands around her middle again.

Nate nodded. "He remembered it, chalked it up to a dream, and then you confirmed it was reality."

"He looked so scared. Didn't he look so scared? It's all my fault."

Flores went to the door and shoved the cabinet aside.

Nate put a hand on Parker's good shoulder. "No, Parker. We all screwed this up."

"All of us except Hardison." She pulled another com from her pocket.

Nate chuckled softly. "He's been the most reasonable one of us in all this."

Sophie and half a dozen guards poured into the room.

"Where's Hardison?" Nate demanded.

Sophie bent down next to Parker. "He went up to the roof."

"He what?" Nate jumped to his feet.

Parker climbed up, too, leaning heavily on Sophie. "So much for reasonable behavior."

xxxxx

Ignoring the pain, Eliot scrambled over the ledge and collapsed on the roof. He had to get out of there. First, he had to rest for a minute and get his bearings. He took a couple of deep breaths, straining his ribcage. It hurt.

He was definitely cracking up. Or…someone out there, some group, was setting him up to make him believe he was losing his mind. That seemed more likely. He just had to think clearly, let the dizziness fade and pull himself together.

His mission was completed, as well as could be expected, anyway. Flores was warned, he should stay on guard. He might live.

But what of Eliot? He had nowhere to go that Moreau wouldn't eventually find.

Eliot realized he'd been close to passing out when he heard a door. He struggled to his feet, holding the taser in front of him. He grabbed at his pant leg and reached inside his boot for a knife.

He was armed and ready.

Eliot squinted in the dark. The lights of the city were just enough for him to make out a shape across the roof. It was a man, skinny and on edge. Eliot's eyes adjusted quickly, and he watched the man jump when the door shut behind him. Then he turned around and scanned the roof. When he saw Eliot, he froze. He literally stopped moving, he even stopped breathing.

And then it all came flooding back.

Hardison.

In the blink of an eye, Eliot was covered in snow gear and it was cold. Hardison pulled him into a hug. Another blink and he was storming out of a hotel in Dubai and all of the sudden, Hardison was there, and Eliot grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. And then Eliot was in a cemetery, his heart pounding in his chest, faster than his fists were flying. He was fighting someone, but he didn't care, he had to get to Hardison. Eliot flew over the grave and wrenched open the coffin. He pulled Hardison out. Hardison held Eliot so tightly, and Eliot—so used to protecting them, so focused on making sure they were safe—didn't know what to do. So he squeezed back. He let Hardison know he was there for him, he was alive. Maybe he even squeezed back because he was so afraid Hardison would be dead when he opened that coffin.

Eliot blinked again. Of course he'd be dead in a coffin. That's what coffins were for. Did he just stand on the roof and have a dream of bringing someone back from the dead?

"Eliot?" Hardison's voice was soft, light and scared.

"Hardison."

"Oh man, you remember me. I knew you would!"

"Of course I remember you. You're not dead."

Hardison stared at him. "Uh, nope. Not dead."

"You were. You were dead. You were in a coffin."

Hardison's face tightened. "Oh man, seriously? That's what you remember? Come on, now, that's just wrong. You need to forget that like I try to every day. You just lock that one up," he mimed tossing something in the air, "and throw away the key."

"You were dead."

Hardison's voice was getting soft again. "No, no, that's not technically true."

"You were in that coffin."

"I didn't belong there."

Eliot had been so worried. What if they'd gotten there too late? What if Hardison wasn't around anymore? What if Hardison didn't need him anymore? Eliot felt he belonged, he felt like he protected a lot of people, but he only remembered protecting Hardison, the cop. Eliot was overcome by a flood of emotions to match the images pouring into his brain.

Flores said he was ragged and needed to trust somebody, and if there was one thing he knew that transcended any doubt, it was that Hardison could be trusted. Even with his life.

Eliot sprinted across the roof and reached out for help. Hardison backed away, and when Eliot threw his arms around him, he screamed and slammed his back into the door. Eliot embraced him, letting go of all the confusion, the worry and the fear. Eliot held him tight. This was what brothers were for.

"Ah! Eliot! Eliot!" Hardison breathed hard and started muttering to himself. "No, no, he's hugging me. The man came at me with a taser in one hand, a knife in the other, and he's _hugging_ me." Hardison tried to push him back. "Eliot, Eliot, it's okay. Take it easy."

They stumbled back a few feet.

"I remember you," Eliot said lightly.

"That's great, really, oh my God I think I'm going to pass out."

Hardison. A cop who loved computers and drank orange soda. Wait…Eliot's eyes snapped open. Computers. He tried to fish with a computer. He'd lost their prisoner from the back of the squad car. Hardison had arrested him and banged Eliot's head in the police car, and then told him to walk it off. Eliot flashed back to the treacherous mountain. Hardison was hugging him, and Eliot pushed him away. Then he was at the hotel again, he was dazed when he'd embraced Hardison. Eliot had been drugged!

He clutched Hardison, holding him in place. There were so many memories, but one came in clearer than any of the others. Eliot froze, his arms still wrapped around him. "You ate my sandwich," he growled.

"Okay, help! Guys, I need help! He's remembering things wrong—eck! Eliot…I can't…brea…"

The door split in two, and everyone and their mother seemed to spill onto the roof. Eliot pulled Hardison back.

"Get him off me!"

"Eliot, let go of Hardison." It was the general, the bad one. Ford. Only that wasn't his name.

Eliot held onto Hardison.

"I didn't eat your sandwich, man."

Ford turned to the blonde. "Parker." He took something out of his ear.

"No!" Hardison's eyes got wide, and Eliot turned their bodies sideways.

The blonde walked up to him with a taser. "Don't do it," Eliot growled. "I've got a tight hold on him. He'll get it, too."

The blonde shrugged and seemed to take great joy in zapping him. Eliot was no longer in control of his muscles, and he convulsed and went down. Hardison went limp in Eliot's hands, and he couldn't hold onto him anymore. Hardison fell on top of him. Eliot cried out as his breath was forced from his lungs, and his vision went gray.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve  


Nate held his hands out. "All right, everybody freeze! All the guards, man the door and any access points. No one touches Eliot."

A threatening growl cut through the night air.

Nate knelt down. "Parker, help me." Together, they hauled Hardison off of Eliot. They sat him with his back against the wall, next to the broken door. "Hardison? You okay?" Nate asked gently.

Hardison opened his eyes and shivered. "You tasered me. You did it on purpose."

Parker smiled, quite pleased with herself. "You're welcome."

"I'm what? What did you just say?"

She grinned. "We got him."

Nate cut in before they could celebrate. "Not yet we don't. He's waking up."

Hardison wrapped his arms around himself. "Those are possibly the scariest words ever uttered."

"Do you feel up to helping us?" Nate asked.

"Where's the needle?" Parker asked.

Flores rushed over with it. "We have to hurry."

Eliot was stirring. They grouped around him; Flores, Hardison, Parker, Sophie and Nate. "Okay, here we go." Nate prepped the needle and angled the crook of Eliot's arm toward him.

Eliot's eyes popped open.

"Crap!" Hardison yelped.

"Grab him!" Nate ordered.

Hardison took hold of Eliot's shoulders and held him down, but Eliot snatched his wrist. Parker flung herself over Eliot's torso, without pressing down, and Eliot gasped, momentarily releasing his grip. Hardison grabbed Eliot's right arm and sat on it. Eliot made a fist with his left, but Nate kneeled on his forearm. It was difficult to balance himself so as not to hurt Eliot yet keep him pinned down, all while being careful with the needle.

Eliot kicked, nearly tossing Parker off him. He flailed wildly and knocked the needle out of Nate's hand, and it skittered across the roof. Sophie seized Eliot's legs, and a guard rushed another syringe to Nate.

Flores knelt down and held Eliot's left arm against the roof so Nate could focus on inserting the needle. Parker adjusted her weight on Eliot's chest while Hardison held down his head and shoulders, and Sophie lay across Eliot's legs. He struggled, frantically trying to gain an advantage, desperately trying to escape.

Nate pushed the needle into his arm, and Eliot cried out. After several seconds, Eliot's movements were jarring and sporadic. He lashed out, but there wasn't any power in it. Then, it looked like he was just struggling to keep awake.

Flores let go of his arm. "It's okay, friend."

Eliot's head lolled from side to side. "No, s'not."

Parker picked herself up, off his chest, and sat back. "Yeah. It is." She reached over and brushed the hair off his forehead.

He reacted to her touch, trying to move away from her.

She held his cheeks in her hands. "We're safe now."

Hardison's voice sounded shaky, and he still held Eliot's shoulders. "She means _you're_ safe now."

"No, I mean _we're_ safe now. He's crazy-strong."

Eliot's hands twitched, his fingers brushing against the roof. "Can't…get away."

"You don't need to." Parker put her hand in one of his fidgety ones.

Hardison leaned over and tilted his face to look at Eliot right side up. "Seriously, man? You remember the sandwich? _The sandwich_?"

Eliot angled his head to look at him, his eyelids sliding down. "Dr…Ralph…O. Khan."

Hardison looked surprised. "You remember that, too?"

Eliot swallowed. He spoke so softly. "I…beat up a…Federal Marshall…in a morgue."

Parker held his hand tighter. "You lead such an interesting life."

Eliot's eyes glazed over, but he refused to succumb to the drug. Nate was frustrated. Eliot spent every day taking care of them, just this once Eliot could let them return the favor.

"What year do you think it is?" Hardison asked.

Eliot's leg twitched. Sophie had let them go a minute before. Suddenly, Nate grabbed the man's jeans. "We'd better disarm him. Just in case."

"He can't even move," Parker said. "And we finally got him back!"

"Not quite." Nate took a knife out of Eliot's boot. Nate patted him down and found a switchblade and another knife. He looked at Hardison, and Hardison took his hands off Eliot's shoulders. Nate nodded. "Excuse me, Eliot." He rolled his friend to the side, and Hardison held him in position while Nate found another three knives tucked into the back of his jeans and belt. Nate gently eased him back. "Well, that's all I can find."

Hardison let go. "Which doesn't account for the fifty or so he's still got hidden."

Parker nodded slowly. "I told you he's really good at hide `n seek."

"Ralph…O…"

"What does that mean?" Sophie asked.

Hardison shut his eyes for a second. "It's a code we used. I'd told him, if there was trouble… Eliot took his com out on a job…" Hardison shook his head.

Sophie leaned in and laced her fingers into Eliot's other hand. "You mean he's calling for help?"

Eliot's eyes were barely slits. "Ralph—"

"You're not in trouble, Eliot." Hardison shook his shoulder and Eliot groaned, his eyes snapping open.

Nate grabbed Hardison's arm. "We're supposed to be knocking him out, not waking him up."

"He looks so helpless! He should never look like that. It's wrong."

"So wrong," Parker echoed.

Nate watched Eliot force his eyes open again. The sheer willpower it took to fight the drug was astonishing. Nate realized he'd screwed up on yet another point. Eliot was racking his brain, not searching it. He was trying to come up with a way out, not dismissing three possibles in favor of the most likely to succeed. Nate had forgotten that the Eliot they were dealing with was ten years younger. Nate was so focused on thinking of Eliot as a stranger, but the point was, he was _younger_. Nate started laughing, crouched on the roof, armed guards standing all around their little circle. He just laughed.

Sophie touched his arm. "What is it, Nate?"

"This shouldn't have worked."

"It nearly didn't."

"This is Eliot ten years ago."

Parker scrunched up her nose. "I thought he didn't travel through time."

"It took all of us and then some to barely subdue him. This Eliot has a decade less experience, a decade less training, a decade less figuring out how to escape dire situations."

Hardison said, "Oh my God, you're right. You know what this means?"

Parker nodded. "He's super awesome!"

Sophie smoothed Eliot's pant legs. "It means we take him for granted. We've seen him in action, but I, for one, never realized what he's capable of. He does this for us every day."

"Yes," Parker said. "He's super awesome."

"I'm still…here."

"Do you remember us yet?" Parker asked hopefully.

Eliot widened his eyes enough to glare at her.

Parker crossed her arms and stuck her lower lip out. "We'll keep you here until you do."

"Not on the roof," Sophie said.

"Yeah, what are we going to do with him?" Hardison asked.

Nate wasn't looking forward to this next part. He motioned to Flores who went to one of the guards by the door. "Eliot, this is going to do nothing for your morale."

Flores walked back, loaded down with chains. "Hold tight, my friend."

Eliot started shaking. He flailed his right arm and managed to brush Sophie's knee.

"He's trying to get up!" Hardison said.

"Super awesome." Parker scooted back as Eliot managed to bring his knee up.

His boot scraped along the roof and if he was trying to kick at them—which was really the only thing he could be doing—he wasn't able to follow through. "What are you…going to do…with me?"

"We're going to protect you," Nate said.

Eliot rolled his head side to side. "Don't…believe…"

Nobody said anything. Sophie patted his arm.

Eliot pulled away from her. "What…do you…want?"

"We want you to get well," Nate said. "God, we want you to pass out."

Eliot offered the slightest shake of his head. "Mind games. Don't…believe…"

Nate reached over and held Eliot's shoulder. "You have a concussion. You were just tasered. You have enough tranquilizers in your system to knock you out for two days, and you're carrying on a coherent conversation." He leaned into him. "You are ridiculous. Just let go."

"If I…lose conshish…ness…I die." He said it so matter-of-factly.

"He really believes that." Parker scooted back to him. "That's how you live? That's terrible. You just go to sleep, anyway. _I'll_ protect you."

"You?" Eliot squinted up at her. "You tasered me."

"Sometimes friends have to taser friends." She said that so matter-of-factly as well.

"That's…how you live? S'terrible." Eliot was finally slipping under. "Thrr's somming wrong with you, Skipper." He struggled uselessly.

Nate held his arm as Hardison pushed on his shoulders. Sophie held his legs down again, and Parker placed gentle hands on his cheeks and forehead. Eliot pushed against them but the group easily held him down.

"No…" His eyes slid shut and he stopped fighting.

Nate held his arm. Eliot's breathing slowed, and his head flopped toward Parker. Nate felt the tension leave Eliot's body.

They stayed like that for another minute, then Nate let Eliot go. "All right, people. Let's get him downstairs."

"What about the chains?" Flores held them up.

Hardison pushed them away. "We'll carry him downstairs, and then the doctor will check him out, and then we'll chain him up."

Flores nodded and started issuing orders to his men.

Nate glanced at his team, including the unconscious Eliot. "Yeah, I like that plan, but maybe we can switch two and three."

"Good idea." Hardison nodded. "You ready?"

Nate bent down. "On the count of three." He counted and Hardison gently tucked his hands under Eliot's shoulders while Nate lifted Eliot's legs.

Sophie rounded them and pushed the hair out of Eliot's face. "Be careful of his back."

"And his brain," Parker added.

"You sound like a zombie," Hardison said.

"You keep saying he has a brain injury. Look how you're holding him—lift his head up." Parker squeezed in next to him and cradled Eliot's head in her hands.

"I'm doing the best I can."

"It's fine. I've got him, too."

Sophie darted for the door and pushed the broken pieces out of the way. She spoke soothingly to Hardison and Parker, both walking backwards, and helped them maneuver the stairs.

It was slow work, but they finally managed to place him on a comfortable mattress in an interior room on the ground floor. They secured the leg irons and handcuffed him to the bed. He would be able to move but not get up or hit anyone. They tucked washcloths between his ankles and the leg irons, and a rubber membrane between the cuffs and his wrists.

Parker examined the outcome when they were done. Nate thought she was going to critique their efforts. Eliot looked so peaceful lying on the clean white linens, his head sunk down in a soft pillow, his hair framing his ashen face.

"This is so wrong," she said.

"I know, Parker." Nate put his arm around her shoulders.

She sighed. "But it's so Eliot, too."

Nate smiled. "Life is like that sometimes."

Hardison raised Eliot's right hand and let it go. It fell, weightless, the cuffs clanked. "He's really out. Are you sure he didn't get too much of the drug?"

"I told the doctor what we wanted, his height and weight and to assume he'd had a full meal. We gave him the maximum amount."

Hardison snorted. "Concussion, taser, climbed a building, tranquilizers. Even Superman can't fight kryptonite the way Eliot fought all that."

Parker tilted her head and shut one eye. "He looks sad. Doesn't he look sad?"

"Come on." Nate pulled her away. "Let the doctor do his job. We need to rest, too."

"But I want to stay."

"We all need to sleep, Parker."

"But I promised to protect him."

"Yeah." Hardison stared at Eliot's still form. "It wouldn't feel right going back to the hotel."

Sophie nodded. "I'm not leaving, either."

"I figured you'd say that, so I made arrangements with Flores. We'd be in the way now so we'll have dinner, and by the time we're done, there'll be four cots set up for us in here." Nate steered them out.

"That's why Eliot's room is so large," Sophie said.

Parker hooted. "You know us better than we know ourselves!"

Nate smiled, feeling weary yet optimistic.

Hardison sighed deeply. "Seriously? He holds a gun on you, he attacks me with a knife and a taser, and he gets a bed while we get _cots_?"

"Ooooh!" Parker clapped her hands in excitement. "It's a sleepover! Oh, no, there are no windows in the room."

"We're not jumping out the windows," Hardison explained.

"I wonder if there's a pool around here."

"We're not handcuffing each other to chairs, Parker!"

"But then it's not really a sleepover!"

Nate whispered, "Do I want to know?"

Hardison made a face at him and stumbled over his words, trying to get Parker to act normal. Nate led them down the hall, knowing it was a useless endeavor, but allowing himself to enjoy the moment. He'd finally gotten his team back.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen  


Eliot started blinking. Eventually, he woke up. He was on his back, his head lolled to the left, facing a wall covered in pictures. It took a few minutes for his eyes to focus. He tried to lean forward to get a better look, but his head screamed at him to stop, so he sank back against the pillows. The photos were of him and those people; the ones from his dreams, and the ones who took him down. He tried to focus, but it hurt his eyes.

He'd recently stopped allowing anyone to take pictures of him. He was getting a reputation; he was even wanted in two countries. These weren't surveillance photos, though. His head cleared and he studied the wall. He was smiling at the camera in some of them. In one, he was at the beach in jeans and a t-shirt, sunglasses covering his eyes, hair blowing in the wind. His face was expressionless, his stance waiting, his arms folded over his chest. He looked like a bodyguard. The blonde was behind him, her arms draped over his shoulders, her head resting in the crook of his neck. Hardison was standing behind him on the other side, holding two fingers above Eliot's head. They must have photoshopped it…but why?

In another picture, he was in some kitchen, wearing an apron with the words 'People are like knives. Everything's in context.' hand-stitched in red letters. He was holding a frying pan in the air, just above the stove. It looked as though he was caught in the second before setting it down, but at that angle, the pan would have missed the stove and ended up on the floor. He was looking to the side, laughing hard, as though someone had just said or done something hysterically funny. All the photos were snippets in time, candid shots of a life he didn't know.

There was a movement to his right, and he clenched his fist, ready to defend himself. Something pulled his arm back and he heard the clanking of chains. He pulled but both hands and legs were shackled to the bed. His pulse quickened.

The blonde walked into his field of vision.

So, the interrogation begins. She was probably about to say the most irritating thing in the world like, 'How do you feel' or 'are you comfortable' or simply 'you're awake'. It usually started out neutral—unless you were already bloodied and tied to a chair in a tiny room with one light bulb swinging above your head. Then it was all business. He would guess this was one of those that would start benignly. He waited for the vanilla question. He'd heard them all.

"Do you like my scrapwall?"

Okay, so that was…unexpected. "Your _what_?"

"Hardison calls it a scrapbook, but it's not in a book, it's on a wall. It's my scrapwall. Well, it's your wall. I made it for you. To jog your memory, and then we can be us again."

"Us?"

She pointed to his other side.

Eliot turned his head and gasped. They were all there; Hardison, Ford and the British woman/first lady. He hadn't even sensed them in the room. That had only ever happened in the military, when he could unconsciously tell who friendlies were. His concussion must be getting worse. They smiled and waved at him.

"How do you feel?" Ford asked.

"You're awake," Hardison said.

"Are you comfortable?" the lady asked.

Eliot leaned back against the pillow and shut his eyes.

"Eliot?" Ford called.

Eliot heard a chair scrape across the floor. "Why am I not dead?" he ground out. He felt something brush across his cheek, and he opened his eyes. The blonde was leaning over him, her face completely in his, their noses almost touching. Her hair fell into his eyes. He sucked in a breath in surprise.

"Parker." Ford pulled her back. "Personal space."

Eliot scoffed.

Ford looked questioningly.

Eliot regained his composure as best he could, and held up his hands. The cuffs slid down his arms. "Personal space? Really?"

Ford frowned at him. "We'll be patient for you. I assume you're feeling better. You look a lot better. You've got color in your cheeks again."

"What do you want, Ford? Or Chesler or whoever you are."

"I see we've dropped the 'Mr.' and the 'General'."

Eliot pursed his lips. Ford wasn't going to tell him anything. He was obviously the one calling the shots, since the others took their cues from him. He'd be the one to watch, the most dangerous of them.

Hardison squeezed in next to Ford. "Sorry about the scruff, man." He rubbed his own, smooth chin. "But we all agreed that letting you near a razor was a bad idea."

The blonde's face contorted comically as she mouthed the words 'bad idea' in an exaggerated fashion.

Eliot refused to feel helpless. He wasn't dead. He'd take that as a win for now. He'd wait. An opportunity would present itself. He did wonder why they were treating him well. They were playing with him. He must have some information they needed. Did they get into his head? Make him think he was losing touch with reality so they could take him down? They knew about his injuries and concussion, where they using that against him? Pretending to be long lost friends to get the intel? "What do you want?"

"Ignore him." Skipper waved a dismissive hand. "To catch you up from last night, the doctor checked you over and you do have a concussion—which we all knew—and you've got bruises and scrapes all over your back—which we all could have guessed. You were also suffering from exhaustion and dehydration." She invaded his space again and he pulled back, but, as he was trapped, he had nowhere to go. "Bad Eliot. No matter how homicidal you feel, you have to keep hydrated."

"I'll try to remember that."

"Is that another joke?" she asked hopefully.

"Not really."

Hardison pulled her back. "Because you don't believe us about your amnesia or because it wasn't very funny?"

Eliot glared at him.

Hardison drew back. "Yeah, well, how come you've got fresh bruises on both shins? I mean, you've got injuries all over your backside 'cause of the fall, and that makes sense, but what did you get yourself into since then?"

"None of your business."

"That's mature." Hardison crossed his arms and made a face at Eliot, well back from the bed.

Skipper continued her catch-up. "You've been on IV fluids all night and half the morning and you slept twelve hours. We all think you need to get more sleep."

Eliot examined his arm. There was a bandage across the crook of his elbow. God knows what they injected into him.

"We took it out long before you woke up." Ford sounded apologetic. "But now, it's time for more rest."

Skipper started leaning toward Eliot again.

Ford grasped her shoulders. "We're going to leave you alone to do it."

"But I want to watch him sleep."

Hardison pushed her back. "That's creepy, Parker."

"I watch you sleep."

Hardison paused and shook his head at her. "You-you really need to learn about boundaries."

"I already know about boundaries. How else could I break into places?"

"You-you-we need to have a talk, you and me."

"Oooh!" She clapped her hands together. "Can it be about mushrooms?"

Eliot strained to see them walk out. The room was large with four chairs to the right, a door in the middle of the wall across from him, the bed he was in and the scrapwall. There wasn't anything he could immediately use to pick the locks on his cuffs, or as a weapon to overpower one of them if they came in alone. He'd have to come up with a plan eventually. He looked at Ford. "There's something wrong with her. You know that don't you?"

"Oh, yeah." He looked across the room. "Sophie?"

"Can I have a minute?"

Ford nodded, reached down to squeeze Eliot's shoulder, then walked from the room.

Suddenly, Eliot was in a different room in a hospital, only Ford was handcuffed to the bed. Eliot was still handcuffed, but this time to a chair. They stared at each other until Ford asked, "Do you trust me?"

Eliot responded, "Of course, you're an honest man."

Eliot blinked back to the present. It had felt like a memory, but he'd never been in that situation with Ford. The feeling was so real—he sincerely believed in that man. He had an overwhelming sense that Ford was trustworthy, and Eliot did his best to shake it off. What was happening to him?

The lady finally stood up.

"Eliot, I'm not very good at these types of things." Her British accent was prominent, her voice soft. "If I had taken more care on the job, I wouldn't have tipped off Anderson. You weren't even supposed to be at that pier. Not only were you there, you saved me from a bullet. And what do you get as a reward? You lose everything important to you. Everything you worked so hard for, everything you suffered for."

"I'm fine, ma'am."

She lowered her head and put a hand on his chained arm. "You're alone."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

She patted his arm sadly. "It's the worst thing you can imagine." She turned and walked to the door, but stopped and regarded him. "And the name is Sophie."

Eliot fell asleep again, and when he woke up, he was more than grateful for having no dreams. They brought him food or water like clockwork every time he awoke. At first, he refused to eat, assuming they meant to drug him again, but Skipper grabbed his spoon and slurped his soup. "That's meaningless." Eliot scowled at her.

"No, it's French onion. One of your favorites."

He blanched at that because it was true. "You could have thrown arsenic in there yourself, and you'd still offer to taste it."

She shook her head. "Arsenic doesn't go with onions."

Ford grabbed the spoon and dipped it in the soup. "Hmmmm. That's not bad."

"It's because there's no arsenic in it," Skipper said.

Ford offered Eliot the spoon. "No." Eliot glared at Hardison. "You."

"Me? I'm not in the mood for soup."

Ford sighed so loudly Eliot thought he'd sprung a leak. "Hardison."

Hardison flung his arms in the air. "Fine. But y'all are witnesses to this. He's forcing me to touch his soup. I'm not going to be accused for the next fifty years of eating Eliot's soup." He wrenched the spoon from Ford. "I do this under protest."

"Hardison, just do it," Ford said.

He dipped the spoon in the soup. "I do this under extreme duress." He slurped it up. "Hmmm. That is good." He looked up at Ford, annoyance spreading over his features. "Tell me again why he hogties Sophie, tasers Parker, almost shoots you, comes at me with a knife, and he gets food like this while we're eating stale sandwiches and drinking well water?"

Sophie—Eliot gave her the courtesy of accepting that as her name—scooped up the spoon. "It can't be all that good." She tasted it. "Hmmmm, that is heavenly." She put the spoon back on the tray and turned it toward Eliot.

Eliot's hands were still secured to the bed, but he had enough freedom of movement to reach the food. He didn't, though.

"See us?" Skipper bounced on her feet. "No one's keeling over or clutching their stomachs. Go on. Bon appétit."

Eliot pushed the tray away. "I'm not eating that. You all used my spoon and ate from the same bowl. That's disgusting. I don't know where you've been."

They stared at him for a moment, and Eliot thought this might be it. They'll turn on him now, drop the façade and demand the information, or announce that they'd sold him to one of the many groups that wanted him dead.

And then—in the same instant—Skipper, Sophie and Hardison reached for the bowl. Hardison grabbed it, but Sophie elbowed him and got both her hands around the bowl then started to lift it off the tray. Eliot raised his arms as far as the cuffs let him, covering his face, but he looked through his fingers. Skipper slammed her foot on Hardison's toes, and he fell back with a wince.

Sophie held the bowl to her chest. "I've got the soup."

Hardison waggled his fingers. "I've got the spoon."

Skipper grabbed the little rolls from the tray. "I've got the bread."

Hardison advanced on Sophie. "Gimme that soup."

Sophie backed to the door, and the three of them bickered as they went outside the room and down the hall.

Eliot lowered his hands and glanced at Ford, a little stunned.

Ford was staring at the door; the two guards stationed outside had closed it, drowning out their voices. "Yeah. Yeah." He nodded to himself. "Okay, Eliot. I'll bring you some more soup."

"I won't eat it."

"You will. You will or I'll find arsenic, toss it in some bourbon and drink all of you away, once and for all."

Eliot watched him go, shaking his head. If it made any sense at all, Eliot would say Ford almost looked embarrassed. Eliot figured that he was the one chained to the bed, so if they'd wanted to poison him, they'd slide a needle into his arm again, and there was little he could do about it. If they wanted him dead, they could simply shoot him, right where he lay. But if he was given untainted food, he could keep his strength up and be ready to make his move when the opportunity arose. So he ate.

They brought him his favorite breakfast, lunch and dinner and more snacks than he thought he could stomach in one day. He guessed about a day had passed. The room was interior and windowless. It was an old torture technique. The prisoner had no sense of the passage of time and could be manipulated into believing three weeks had gone by, when in reality, it was a few days. He didn't get that impression with them, though, but he was being given an awful lot of food. To make him think days were going by? Possibly. Knowing this, he guessed on the low side.

He couldn't track his naps—he kept falling asleep—and the visits were quite frequent. It made it seem like more time had passed than it likely had, but they made one serious error; every time they came in, they were wearing the same clothes, and the women had the same hairstyles. They always came in the same group of four…except the one time Parker came in alone.

Eliot was sleeping and she actually woke him up. He was a little groggy. They'd never woken him up before. The whole day, they always came in a few minutes after he'd opened his eyes. At first, it was disconcerting; they must be watching him sleep after all. Then he figured it was probably just Parker on some hidden camera, and then she'd call the others.

"_Eliot!_" she whispered. "Are you awake?"

Eliot blinked up at her. He didn't like the jarring realities. "Go away, Parker."

"You remember me?"

Eliot closed his eyes and growled.

"I actually don't know which way to take that. _Do_ you remember me?"

He rolled over on his side, away from her, tucking his hands underneath his chin, the cuffs no longer bothering him. He was getting used to them. "No, Skipper. I still don't know you. I'll always not know you."

"Aw, poor Eliot."

He felt something pat his rump. He opened his eyes and stared at the empty chairs against the blank wall. "Skipper, what are you doing?"

"Patting your back in a soothing manner because you're so sad."

"That's not my back, darlin'."

"Oh. Well, do you want to know why I came in here?"

"If I say no, will you go away quietly?"

She rounded the bed, knelt down and stuck her face in his. "Awww. That proves you don't know me."

"What do you want?"

She held out a little rubber-looking thing. "I was told that the best way for an amnesia victim to regain their memory is to take them around familiar surroundings."

Eliot pulled on his chains. "Is this what I've been missing?"

"Sometimes. You're a very dangerous man, and we have to keep you like this to keep you safe. I told you I'd protect you. Anyway, familiar surroundings would be us, and we can't exactly take you through a typical day. First of all, we don't really have typical days and second—"

"I'm a dangerous man."

"You sure are. Evidently, lots and lots of people work in an office, so a typical day would be in your office, only you don't work in an office, so I figured," she handed him the tiny device, "I'd bring the office to you."

Eliot refused to take it. "What is it?"

"It's the com. Oh my, you really don't remember, do you?" She shook her head sadly. "You put it in your ear."

"Why would I do that?"

She reached for her ear and pulled out an identical device. "I'm going to wear mine around the others. They don't have theirs in because we're not on a job. You'll hear us talking and planning—things like what we'll do when we get home—and we talk a lot about you and it's bound to jog your memory."

"I've witnessed you in action. The soup incident was like nothing I've ever seen."

She scrunched her nose and bopped her head back and forth, the ponytail bouncing around her shoulders. "Actually, that's not true by a long shot."

"That soup thing only serves to humiliate me more by knowing you people somehow managed to take me out up on the roof, and then chain me up like this."

"Ooh…that was hard for all of us. We struggled and fought with each other. Losing you like this has divided the group a bit. None of us is good at failure, but all of us ended up losing. That soup got e_verywhere_."

Eliot laughed, surprising himself. He couldn't help it and immediately shut his mouth.

She clutched his earpiece and raised her chin up. "I love that sound!"

"Get out," Eliot growled. How could he slip like that? He was _not_ growing comfortable here, and he refused to get used to these strange people.

"Are you going to take it?"

"Leave me alone."

"It's either this or my other idea." She walked back to the door and peeked out.

"What other idea?" Eliot frowned at the nervous way his question came out.

"Push you off a pier."

Eliot forced himself not to react.

"It would get your memory back right away. Are you feeling all right? You're suddenly so pale."

"You're not really going to push me off a pier?" Eliot forced himself to look on the bright side. He might be able to escape during transport—depending on how serious she was.

"The others absolutely forbade it."

Eliot glared at her.

She marched toward him. "I'm putting it in your ear." She brushed the hair away from his face and gently placed the com in his ear canal.

Eliot shuddered at the sensation.

She stood back and put hers back in her own ear. "Can you hear me? I mean, in your ear?"

"Yes." Did he just answer her absurd question?

"Don't speak."

He glared at her again.

"No, not now. I mean, if you talk, I'll hear you and it'll distract me and I might give us away. Don't tell the others. They'd be really mad."

A crack in the enemy's armor? "Why?"

"They want to baby you." She flopped into one of the chairs across the room. "Sophie feels sooooo bad you're like this. Hardison is afraid you don't like him and if you don't get your memory back then you'll never be friends again. Nate is just a mess. He feels like it's all his fault because he came up with all the plans and none of them quite worked out how he thought. It turned out okay because you're safe and sound—finally—but you got hurt. It's different when one of our butts is on the line. It's harder for him to think dispassionately. Actually, he never thinks dispassionately."

"Your point?"

She sighed. "They're afraid if they push you, your mind will lock up indefinitely. I'm the only one who wants to push. I want us to be us again but…it's weird. Now I want you to be healthy because you're so sad and lonely. Not just for me to get you back."

Eliot opened his mouth.

"Save it." She stood up. "I don't want to hear about how fine you are because you're not, and I can't wrap my head around how you actually think you are. I don't want to go back there. I never want to be…I never belonged anywhere before. I never had a real family. I know you asked me to let you enjoy it if you ever got amnesia, but I can't do it, Eliot. We need you back." She walked out of the room.

Eliot didn't know what to think. She was so genuine and awkward and open. A term flitted across his mind, 'Parker-logic'. He heard humming. It was her, over the com.

Could she really hear him if he spoke?

"_Yes, Eliot, I can hear you if you speak."_

Eliot jumped to a sitting position, pulling on his restraints. "How did you know?"

"_You weren't saying anything."_

"I'm in a room alone."

"_I could tell by the way you weren't saying anything."_

"What does that even mean?"

"_Shhh."_

He heard a door open and close.

"_Parker, where have you been?"_ It was Ford's voice.

"_I told you I had to go to the bathroom."_

Hardison's voice sounded tight. _"I don't believe you. Don't believe her, Nate."_

"_I don't."_

Sophie's voice came over the com, all British and silky. _"You went to see Eliot again, didn't you?"_

Eliot tensed. Would they punish her?

"_Eliot wasn't in the little girl's room."_

"_And neither were you,"_ Hardison said.

Ford spoke again._ "We agreed to see him together. First, we're less intimidating as a group."_

"_Less?"_ Hardison challenged.

"_Soup."_ Nobody said anything for half a minute then Ford continued. _"Second, if he breaks free, _one _of us is vulnerable."_

"_Yeah,"_ Hardison said. _"If all of us are there, there are four chances of screaming for help."_

"_Parker, don't do it again."_

"_Okay, Nate, but I just drank an awful lot of water."_

Eliot smirked. Again, he couldn't help it. He settled in, getting as comfortable as he could, and he just listened. They were crazy. They were unfocused, they were disorganized and somehow, they were familiar. And impossibly, they were almost likable…


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen  


Eliot had fallen asleep at some point. He woke with a start, unsure where he was. Propped up in bed against some pillows, his arms were folded across his chest, chains attached to his wrists. He felt rested but uneasy. Something woke him.

"_How could that happen? Why now?"_ It was Ford, over the com in his ear, and he was really worked up over something.

"_I am unsure. We have been most distracted by capturing Eliot."_ It was Flores.

"_Are you blaming us?"_ Hardison asked.

"_Of course not."_

"'_Cause that's my friend in there, even if he doesn't know it. I don't care what happens, I wouldn't change a thing."_

"_Hardison, calm down."_ It was Sophie.

Ford said, _"We have to figure out what he's going to do."_

"_That's easy." _It was Skipper. _"He's going to kill us."_

Eliot straightened. Who was going to kill them? Why?

"_No-no-no. No he is not. Tell me he is not going to come after us."_ Hardison sounded panicked.

"_Nate?"_ Sophie asked.

"_Of course he is. Why break out now, after all this time? Coincidence? No. What I want to know is _how_."_

Flores spoke again. _"Perhaps word got back to some of Moreau's more loyal men, that Eliot was here."_

"_Do you think he's after Eliot?"_ Hardison asked nervously.

Eliot glanced around his empty room. Why would Moreau be after him? Had the boss already found out Eliot had warned Flores?

Ford answered with a similar question. _"How would Moreau find out? He's cut off."_

"_He's downstairs,"_ Hardison said.

"_Not anymore."_

"_Thank you, Parker. That's what I really needed to hear."_

"_Hardison, stop. General, what are your men doing?"_

"_I told them to double the guard on Eliot's room. He should be safe."_

"_I'm going."_

"_Parker, stay put."_

"_I promised to protect him."_

The British accent poured out of the com like honey. _"I don't think Eliot is in danger. He's well guarded. Moreau would be an idiot to try something. We, on the other hand, are just sitting here, waiting for him to show up."_

There was more silence before Ford spoke again. _"Do we know for sure Moreau is still on the grounds?"_

"_Oh, yes,"_ Flores said.

Ford continued. _"Here's what I propose. Our best bet is to focus on recapturing Moreau, while also guarding Eliot and ourselves."_

"_I would agree but my men would be too spread out."_

Ford's voice got louder. _"No matter what, we keep the guards on Eliot's door."_

"_Agreed."_

Sophie asked, _"What is it, Nate? What are you thinking?"_

"_It's risky."_

Hardison said, _"It's always risky. Why can't, for once, it just be safe?"_

"_We split up."_

"_Split up?"_ Sophie repeated. _"General Flores said the men are already thinned out."_

"_I know but Moreau can't possibly kill us all. He'll be caught before then."_

"_Oh, so only one or two of us bites it?"_ Hardison took a deep breath. _"Fine. As long as it's not Eliot."_

"_Of course not,"_ Sophie said. _"All he ever does is guard us. This is the one time we get to guard him."_

Skipper sighed. _"I remember when he was standing outside that window. Remember when I got caught in that building? The security system was actually after me? I was running for my life and there was Eliot, of course, standing on a window washer platform, staring at me. He told me to stand back and was about to break the glass and rescue me. The second I saw him, I knew I couldn't leave. Knowing that I was safe, because of him, I was able to go do what I went there to do. He looked so mad but understanding, you know how he can show any emotion along with anger? I keep thinking about that, seeing him standing just a few feet away, coming to get me home safe."_

"_It's okay, Parker."_ Sophie spoke gently._ "His memories are there. He'll remember_—_we'll keep him safe until he does."_

"_All right,"_ Ford said. _"Everybody on coms."_

Eliot heard a deep gasp.

"_What is it, Parker?"_ Hardison asked.

"_Nothing."_

And then Eliot's com went dead. He grabbed his ear and strained to listen. "Parker? Parker! Don't do this to me. Don't cut me off!" Eliot wanted to throw something, but he couldn't even sit up completely with the restraints holding him down. Moreau was after them? Why? How did he find out they were in San Lorenzo? Was it really Eliot's doing, as General Flores suggested? Eliot debated what to do. He had to face it, if Moreau was after these people, then maybe they weren't so bad after all. And when was he ever a window washer?

A few minutes later, he heard voices outside his door. He tensed in the bed, readying himself as best he could for whatever might come through it. The door creaked open, and Parker slipped inside.

"Parker? What's going on?"

"Shhh!" She motioned to his ear.

Eliot reached up and turned his com off.

She walked up to him. "Nothing's going on," she said brightly. "Now hand it over."

"I'm not going to do that, darlin'."

"Eliot, you have to. They're going to have theirs in any minute."

"Why'd you cut me off?"

"I didn't want you to hear anything."

Wow. Honesty was not only refreshing but surprising. "I thought you said nothing was going on."

"Maybe you had a bad dream and made up some more weird stuff going on."

"Maybe. Or maybe Damien Moreau is in this building and he's after you."

Parker's face fell. She looked almost hurt. "Fine. Okay. But it's not just us he's after. In the time between when you think you are, and the actual calendar year, you broke free of Moreau, and then you helped us catch him and put him in the dungeon downstairs."

"I did?"

"One of your jobs was to pretend to shoot Sophie, who was pretending to be the first lady."

Eliot tried to make sense of all the information.

Parker held her hand out. "Give me the com."

Eliot shook his head, very slowly.

"Come on! I know you. If I try to rip it from your head, you'll attack me."

"That's right, darlin'."

She stomped her foot. "I could taser you and then take it. I wouldn't need to take it, it'd be fried."

"I know you. If you'd brought your taser, you'd have done it already."

"Oooh!" She looked around the sparse room frantically. "If the others find out, they'll be really mad. And worse than that, they'll get distracted and that might mean the difference in fighting Moreau. You could get them killed."

"I wouldn't do that, Parker."

"You called me Parker again."

Eliot replayed the last few seconds but couldn't remember. "I don't think I did."

She stalked up to the bed and he was about to defend himself when her expression changed. "I'm sorry, Eliot. If Moreau comes in here, I can't protect you. I don't know how you do it. You're the best protection anyone could ever have. The only thing I can do now is…" she leaned toward his face and put her hand in his and whispered, "give you what you gave us. The best protection there is." She straightened up, marched to the door and left without turning back.

Eliot stared at his hand. Two keys lay in his palm. He reached up and turned on the com.

"—_are you, Parker?"_ Ford demanded.

"_I'm here, I'm here."_

"_Are you with your guard?"_

"_Yes, of course. We're going around the corner from Eliot's room. He's fine."_

"_I told you she did,"_ Hardison said. _"Is he really okay?"_

"_Sure. It's not like he knows what's going on. He's sleeping away, snoring like the engine of a badly tuned getaway car."_

Eliot wanted to snap that he didn't snore. He shook his head to focus. Figures she'd liken snoring to theft.

"_Are you in the room yet?"_

"_Yeah, yeah, I'm in."_

"_All right."_ Ford took a quick but audible breath. _"Everyone stay quiet unless you have something important to say."_

Three seconds passed before Parker blew a raspberry. _"I'm bored."_

"_Girl, just concentrate on not getting killed,"_ Hardison said.

"_Okay."_

Four seconds passed.

"_I'm _really_ bored."_

Sophie cut off the men and said gently, _"Think about the Hope diamond."_

"_Oooh! I loved the feel of it in my hand."_

"_I'm not crazy, I'm speaking to my friends,"_ Sophie said.

"_Who are you talking to?"_ Parker asked.

"_My guard. Mr. Stevens."_

Hardison said, _"Yeah, mine is looking at me like I'm nuts, too."_

"_Guys,"_ Ford said. _"Keep the coms clear."_

"_Um…"_

"_Parker, please stop talking."_

But Parker had one last question. _"Do all of you have your guards in the room?"_


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen  


A slow, purposeful shiver traveled down Eliot's spine. He grabbed the handcuff key and tried to get it in the lock, one-handed, twisting his fingers to the point of pain.

"_Yes, Parker."_

Eliot got both cuffs off in record time and flung off the sheet to set to work on his leg irons. There were washcloths stuffed in the shackles. He hadn't noticed that before. No wonder they hadn't hurt by now.

"_My guard never came inside."_

"_Parker, is your door locked?"_

Eliot rubbed his wrists and climbed off the bed. He fell to his knees. His legs were jelly. He'd only been there a day! He took a precious few seconds to steady himself.

"_Yes, I just double-checked it. Oh my gosh."_ She was whispering now.

"_What is it, Parker? Talk to us."_

"_What's that noise?"_

"_Get away from the door and hide,"_ Ford ordered. There was the crackling of a walkie-talkie and Ford's voice sounded farther away. _"General Flores, I need your men on the ground floor." _His voice was strained, and it sounded like he was talking to himself. _"This doesn't make sense. Why would Moreau go after Parker? There are four guards outside Eliot's room, right around the corner."_

"_She's on the ground floor. Maybe Moreau couldn't get up here,"_ Hardison guessed.

Eliot was working the lock on the door but he was having trouble. He was glad they'd left his jeans. He'd pulled out the lock picks stitched to the inseam before taking a few seconds to dress. He'd thrown on his boots and pulled a knife from the left one. He was ready, he felt good, rested and determined. The team needed him, and Parker was in trouble, as usual, but he couldn't get through this door!

The crackle of the walkie sounded through the com. _"General Flores? General?"_

"_Nate, what's going on? Are they on their way?"_

Ford sounded like he was in a state of disbelief. _"I can't raise him on the radio."_

"_I'm going. Come on, Mr. Stevens."_

"_Sophie, stay put. That's an order."_

Hardison called out. _"Nate, we can't_—_"_

"_It could be a trap, Hardison. We're on the third floor, and Sophie is above us. We'd never make it in time."_

"_I can't believe you just said that over an open com!"_ Hardison yelled.

"_Oh my God!"_ Parker whispered desperately.

Eliot heard the creak of a door over the com. Finally, he picked the lock and his cell door gave. He prepared to attack his own guards, but no one was there. Nobody was down the hall, either. To his left, the hallway dead ended. So Parker was to his right. He'd make it in time, but he didn't know what he was getting into, how many men he would face, their weaponry, the layout or his back up. They usually planned these things better. He crouched low and peeked around the corner. No one was in the hall, and one door was eerily ajar.

Eliot took a deep breath, listening to the panicked ramblings of his teammates. He hissed into the com. "Nate, my four guards are gone. Grab your guard and get down here. Hardison, if you're on your computer, turn off the lights in fifteen seconds. Sophie, stay put in case it's a trap, you're the most vulnerable. Parker if you can jump out the window and climb to safety, do it. Now." Before anyone could respond, he ran down the hall and kicked the door open. It was pitch-black except for a sliver of light that streamed in through a window. He saw four figures and fell into a defensive stance, ratcheting his right hand back, ready to throw the knife into the heart of anyone threatening Parker.

Then the lights came on.

Nate, Sophie, Hardison and Parker sat behind a table near the window. There was a computer on the table and he could see the screen. It showed a picture of Eliot's room and empty bed.

Eliot breathed hard, staring at them. Nate folded his hands on the table calmly, but his foot tapping betrayed his nerves. Sophie leaned back in her chair, one arm draped over the back. Her legs were positioned on the floor in such a way that she could bolt in a second. Hardison looked shorter than usual, his hands gripping the edges of the table as he sagged. He was using it as cover. Parker sat on the windowsill, swinging her legs.

"He's mad," Hardison whispered.

"Yes, he is. But he called me Nate."

Sophie smirked. "He remembered that Parker likes to jump out windows."

"He asked Hardison to use the computer. Did you hear that?" Parker asked.

Eliot didn't move, legs still bent at the knees, knife still held over his head.

Hardison sank lower behind the table. "He's sizing up which one of us to beat first."

"Yeah," Nate said. "But I still think it worked."

"Did it work, Eliot?" Parker asked hopefully. She was the only one not worried about an attack—which would be totally justified—but for all he knew, she was harnessed and ready to jump out.

Eliot could hardly believe what was happening. "You set me up?"

Sophie shifted in her seat. "What about me? You didn't say anything about me."

Eliot studied her. The woman he swore he didn't kill but remembered doing so. The woman who looked like she would have traded places with him on that pier. "Your name isn't Sophie."

"What is it?" Nate asked, leaning forward.

Sophie opened her mouth, but Eliot held his left hand out. "You all set me up."

Nate stood. "_I_ did. We tried it the slow way but you weren't remembering. Locking you in a room, even with Parker's scrapbook—"

"Scrapwall."

"—scrapwall, wasn't working. You're not exactly the easiest amnesia patient to treat and time was not on our side."

Parker nodded, sending her ponytail bouncing. "If you escaped again, we might never have found you."

Eliot let his arm lower, but he still held the knife in his hand at his side. "You couldn't wait more than one day?"

"I knew it'd work." Sophie turned to Nate with a big smile.

"It's been three days," Hardison said.

Eliot finally relaxed a little, still at the ready as adrenaline was pumping through his veins. It seemed to clear his head a bit. He knew them. He knew their personalities, their talents, their quirks. "One day," he insisted. "It's been one…one day.

Hardison sat a little straighter. "I thought all that food would give it away. We needed you to think it'd only been a day or else it would be too suspicious that Moreau escaped three days later, not immediately while the palace was distracted with capturing you."

"But I didn't know Moreau was here."

Nate nodded. "We couldn't be sure what you remembered. And hearing us lay out the story over the coms, we wanted to be sure it'd stand up to scrutiny."

Eliot touched his cheeks with his free hand. They had a little scruff. "It can't have been three days."

"Man, you were really knocked out. You've probably been awake, like, fifteen hours out of the last three days."

"Eighteen hours, twenty minutes, thirty-two seconds," Parker said.

"That's creepy," Eliot and Hardison snapped.

"That's my boy," Hardison said. "While you were sleeping, we changed your clothes and shaved you."

Nate said, "We couldn't wait any longer or your muscles would atrophy to the point you'd hurt yourself trying to act."

"You have great muscle tone," Parker said.

Eliot cringed internally. The thought of anyone—even Hardison—coming at him with a razor blade while he snored like a badly tuned getaway car was too gut-wrenching to dwell on.

Sophie smiled brightly. "We made sure to dress the exact same whenever we came in."

"You messed with my head."

"We had to," Parker said. "How else could we get you back?"

"So, do you remember us?" Nate asked carefully.

"You ran a con on me."

"Did it work?" Parker asked.

"You don't con one of your own. I thought you were in mortal danger. I-I—"

Nate walked around the table and risked putting a hand on Eliot's shoulder. "I know, Eliot. I know. But that's your typical day. You're security. Those feelings are familiar to you. We had to trigger your memories somehow."

Eliot took a deep breath. He shut his eyes for a moment, centering himself.

"He remembers us," Hardison breathed. "He'd _never_ close his eyes that long in a roomful of people he didn't know."

"Even worse, we're his captors," Parker said.

Eliot's eyes snapped open. "Stop talking about me like I'm not here."

"We're trying to figure out if you _are_ here," Parker said. "Or, which one of you is here. It all has to do with time travel—"

Hardison stood up. "Parker!"

Sophie walked around the table and leaned against it. "How did you pick the lock to the door? We were worried about that. We couldn't figure out how to leave you a key to the door without being obvious. Did you use the metal of one of the keys Parker left you?"

Eliot glanced at the computer again. It showed his bed and a few feet to the left and right but not the door.

"Yeah, and where'd you get that knife?" Hardison asked.

"I, uh." Eliot wondered how much to tell them. "I had a lock pick set in my jeans and a couple of knives and other weapons and tools."

Nate let go of Eliot's shoulder. "But we patted you down and took everything away."

Eliot frowned at him. "One of these days, I'm going to have to teach you how to disarm a person, Nate."

Nate huffed. "All right, level with us now, would you please? What do you remember? Do you trust us? Are you going to bolt? Are you mad?"

Hardison pulled back. "And if mad, _how_ mad?"

Eliot breathed through his nose to maintain his composure. His adrenaline was starting to seep out of his system. Nate was studying him, scrutinizing every reaction. It was just like him, too. He had to understand everything. He couldn't make a move without knowing exactly what the other guy was thinking. How else could he manipulate him? Except he was an honest man, only running cons to help people. Like this one. "I remember you."

Parker clapped and jumped off the windowsill.

Before she could run over and hug him, as she was bound to do, Eliot said, "Sort of."

Parker stopped in her tracks. Hardison regarded him sadly, Nate frowned and Sophie's face fell.

"I sort of know you, but I don't remember, like, specifics. Some things I do." He looked at Sophie. "You shushed me when I was fighting a hired killer back stage somewhere."

"Well, the kid was singing, Eliot. I had to see it through."

"Uh-huh." Eliot suddenly felt weak. The adrenaline crash sapped his strength, and the strange snippets of recollections only frustrated him.

Nate took a step back. "Would you like food or sleep?"

Eliot didn't like that. He felt comforted, but he was so used to relying on himself, he didn't like the idea that someone else could sense a weakness in him.

"You're hungry and tired, Eliot. It's not something you have to hide from friends."

"Get out of my head, Nate."

"Ooooooh! It's so exciting to have you back!" Parker ran over and hugged him.

Eliot rolled his eyes, biting back the response he'd wanted to shout. He did not hug her back, but he also didn't knock her out so she should take that as a win.

"We can watch a scary movie and grab our sleeping bags—or cots—and make hot chocolate and chat and laugh."

Eliot squinted in thought. "That sounds like a sleepover."

"You remember those? Oh, good. I didn't think to pack your fuzzy slippers, so it won't be exactly like a sleepover."

"I don't have fuzzy slippers."

"Probably because you're a boy."

Eliot shrugged. "Could be."

Parker grinned. "You can make the hot chocolate."

Sophie shook her head. "Parker, he's tired. Don't make him work."

Nate rounded the table. "Actually, putting Eliot in a kitchen might not be a bad idea. It could jog his memories even more."

"Do you know how many weapons a kitchen has?" Hardison muttered.

Parker cheered. "We'll have so much fun and stay up too late and try not to get into trouble but then jump out the window—"

"I keep telling you, Parker." Hardison came over and took her by the shoulders. "There is no jumping out the window in sleepovers."

"Maybe not in boy sleepovers." She turned to Eliot. "Is that true? That boys don't jump out windows at sleepovers?"

"Uh, yeah, that's true." Eliot remembered waking up when he was in the military, during a surprise attack in the middle of the night. There was fire…and alarms and screaming and men jumping out of windows. He regarded Parker thoughtfully. Did that count? "Mostly true."

"Oh!" Parker's hand flew to her mouth. "You see, Hardison? You just didn't know the right boys."

Hardison shook his head. "Eliot probably needs to sleep."

"Yeah," Parker said in her best 'duh' voice. "It's called a 'sleepover', Hardison."

Hardison looked at Nate, silently asking for help. It was such a familiar motion, and Eliot was bombarded with more visions of time spent with them. They knew him, a little too well. "How did you find me? I mean here in San Lorenzo."

"It was Sophie," Nate said.

"No." Sophie shook her head. "It was Parker. She found out where you were headed."

Parker draped an arm around Hardison. "I couldn't have done that without Hardison."

Hardison nodded toward Nate. "Without Nate's plan, you'd still be running around thinking it was the turn of the century."

Eliot watched at them. "You guys are really…" he shrugged, at a loss for an accurate description.

Parker chuckled. "We're not like your biker bar friends, huh? They're not as sappy as we are?"

"Biker bar?" Eliot thought about the last few days. Or however many days since the pier. "You went to the biker bar? What did you say? Nobody would have given me up there. Unless…did I change over the last…" Eliot was growing exhausted.

Hardison hooked a foot around a chair leg and pulled it over. "Here, rest for a minute."

Parker pushed him down, and Eliot let her. "I didn't talk to anybody, actually. Two guys were talking about you. I think they liked you. The guy with the green hair was gonna ask for your help, but he knew you were acting different so he didn't bother you."

Eliot stood up. "Snake needs my help? Was it his cousin?"

"Yeah, I think he said something about his cousin."

Eliot turned to Nate. "We've gotta get back there. I knew this would happen. I'm thinking the Eskimo on the Boat Con."

Sophie looked at him. "Eskimo on the Boat Con?"

"Are you making that up?" Hardison asked.

"It's like the Bear on the Elevator Con but with ice."

Hardison flung his arms in the air. "And we thought there was something wrong with his memory."

"Look, I don't need your help. I'll do it myself." Eliot walked out of the room, but he didn't get around the corner before the four of them were at his heels, chattering over one another. The next couple of hours were a blur, but he found himself at the airport, sitting in a hard plastic chair, almost wishing he was in the bed back in his comfortable prison and chains. The mattress was heavenly.

Hardison slammed the lid on his laptop. "I can't believe this. Our flight's been delayed four hours. Do we go back to the palace?"

Nate shook his head. "It's well past midnight."

"Get hotel rooms?"

"No. By the time we'd get settled, we'd be leaving again." Nate studied Eliot. "Unless you need to rest. We can leave tomorrow instead."

"I'm good." Eliot heard his voice come out gruff and sounding especially tired.

Without a word, Sophie stood up and sashayed down the long hall and disappeared in a crowd of people waiting for a flight to China.

"She leaving us again?" Eliot asked.

Hardison smiled. "You're remembering more, huh?"

"Maybe."

"How come you kept calling me Skipper?" Parker asked.

That was not something he was going to share with them. He had an affinity for kids, didn't get to see his nephew as much as he'd like and had babysat more often than any other bodyguard he knew. Then there were the soldiers' letters from home. He never got any himself, but the others shared theirs, shared their lives, and many had children and the children wrote about every class, toy and activity they enjoyed. It bolstered them all, gave them hope. But that was too personal to share. "You're excitable and you tend to bounce across rooms."

Hardison stifled a laugh, and Parker punched his arm playfully.

Sophie came back a few minutes later wheeling a cart loaded with five tightly rolled sleeping bags.

Parker's face became animated. "Sophie! Where did you get these?"

"Well, I—"

"Never mind." Parker waved her answer away with the flick of a wrist. "Come on, guys."

"Oh, no." Hardison sighed deeply.

Parker beamed. Eliot bit back his own smile. She could light up the whole airport with that grin. He stood up and started walking away. Nate and Hardison jumped out of their chairs.

"Where you going, buddy?"

Eliot turned on Hardison, about to snap. He stopped when he saw nothing but concern and the tiniest hint of alarm in his eyes.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he lied. "And I don't need an escort."

"I have to go to the bathroom, too." Hardison started toward him.

Eliot planted his feet shoulder width apart, crossed his arms and glared.

Hardison turned to Nate.

Nate studied Eliot for a long moment, and then, saying nothing, nodded at Hardison. Hardison started to turn back to help Parker at the cart when Eliot grabbed his arm. "Hey."

"Yeah?" Hardison looked uneasy, like he was hoping Eliot wasn't about to apologize or get emotional or something.

"Why don't you find a scary movie on your little laptop thing."

Hardison looked at Parker, gleefully unwrapping sleeping bags and positioning them on the floor in front of the chairs. "Yeah. I can do that."

Eliot walked past the bathrooms and made his way to the food court. He wished he could remember everything in one long string of events. How exactly he ended up with these people. Why they accepted him as they did. What he could do to ensure it didn't disappear in a puff of smoke. He walked back to find the tops of the sleeping bags forming a semi-circle around the laptop. The others were all on their stomachs, resting their heads on their crossed arms. He felt as though he could fall asleep in seconds, but Parker would probably be up for hours, she was so keyed up. The sugar wouldn't help.

"There he is! I told you he'd come back." Parker's features froze as she saw what he was carrying.

Eliot knelt down on the only unoccupied sleeping bag and offered the tray of hot chocolate. "We're not jumping out of any windows, Parker, so this will have to do."

Parker stared at him with wide, shining eyes. "This is perfect."

"What scary movie are we watching?" Eliot asked, not really in the mood for violence. Maybe Parker would have picked an old black-and-white film, one of those in which there was no blood but you had nightmares for weeks. Not that he was looking forward to that, but if it would replace his real nightmares, he was fine with it. He'd probably fall asleep within minutes, anyhow.

Nate and Sophie stifled a laugh.

Hardison hit a button on the laptop. "_Anger Management_."

Eliot stared at each one of them.

Parker smiled brightly. "Doesn't that sound so scary? It's all about anger and it's Jack Nicholson. Everything Jack Nicholson is in is creepy. It's going to be terrifying, don't you think?"

Eliot climbed into his sleeping bag, having no doubt in his mind that Parker would make up her own scary story as the movie ran.

Parker's kind face fell into a mask of worry. "It won't be too scary for you, will it? I didn't think of that."

"I think I can handle it."

"You say that about everything."

"I do?" Eliot turned on his stomach and faced the screen, hoping they wouldn't notice if he fell asleep. Hardison was on Parker's other side, stifling a laugh as he angled the laptop so they could all see. Nate and Sophie lay on Eliot's right. He noticed he was in the middle, not out of courtesy, he thought, but as a not-so-subtle reminder that he wasn't quite trusted. They were still worried that he might slip away when they weren't looking. Sophie was adjusting her wig—they explained its presence, but Eliot couldn't digest it all—and Nate was staring at him. Eliot tried a smile, but Nate just shook his head before turning his attention to the computer and blowing on his hot chocolate.

Parker leaned over and whispered, "This is exactly what sleepovers are like. Aren't they?"

Eliot's breath caught in his throat. She didn't know, did she? She was so naïve in some ways. She'd had a different sort of childhood. She was isolated and didn't have anything resembling a normal upbringing. She raved about sleepovers _because_ she'd never been to one. And now they were on the floor of an airport in a European country in the middle of the night—a grifter, a hacker, a thief, a mastermind and a hitter with amnesia—all in 'borrowed' sleeping bags about to watch a comedy-thought-to-be-scary movie on a laptop, while waiting for a plane to take them to help a biker's cousin. Without thinking what he was doing, he reached over and pulled the top of her sleeping bag across her back and up to her shoulders and tucked the sides in. "Yes, Parker. They're exactly like this."

She beamed at him. "I knew it."

**THE END  
**

_A/N: I hope you enjoyed my first long fan fiction!_

_Please don't ruin the twist in the reviews, if you can help it._

_I hope you liked the twist – I figured I had to have an actual con somewhere in such a long _Leverage_ story, and I had to have at least one of poor Nate's plans work!_

_Thank all of you who've stuck with me since April and took the time to leave a review. It is so appreciated!_


End file.
